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l  s 


I 


Sketching  Rambles 

IN 

Holland 

By  George  H.Boughton,A.R.A. 


With  illustrations  by  the  Autkor 
and  Edwin  A.  Abbey 


NEW  YORK 
HARPER   dr  BROTHERS,   FRANKLIN  SQUARE 

15S5 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1884,  by 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


All  rights  reserved. 


ONE   OF  THEM. 


4 


"QUI  S'EXCUSE  S'ACCUSE." 
By  Way  of  Preface, 

1HAVE  first  set  down  the  above  wholesome  maxim.  It 
may  check  any  wayward  tendency  within  me  to  apologize 
beyond  the  full  extent  of  any  sin  of  commission  or  omis- 
sion I  may  have  been  guilty  of  in  writing  this  book. 

It  might  have  been  more  to  the  interest  and  profit  of  the 
reader  had  the  partner  of  these  sketching  rambles  presented 
me,  and  explained  my  peculiar  position  in  this,  our  joint  effort. 
Knowing  however,  as  well  I  do,  his  persistent  and  sometimes 
tiresome  modesty,  I  feel  that  I  have  little  hope  of  aid  from  his 
quarter.  I  must  explain  my  unwonted  appearance  here  as  an 
author  as  best  I  may,  not  forgetting  to  premise  that  if  there  be 
any  appreciable  amount  of  credit  to  this,  our  production,  I  am 
not  loath  to  take  my  fair  share  of  it,  while  he,  dear  fellow,  will 
be  apt  to  make  it  unpleasant  all  round  should  he  not  have 
more  than  his  share  of  any  blame  that  may  fall  to  us. 

When  my  friend  first  proposed  that  I  should  join  him  in  a 
vagarious  "  wander  "  over  the  "  untrodden  ways  "  of  unfrequented 
Holland,  the  alluring  scheme  included  in  the  party  a  certain 
writer  of  charming  sketches  of  travel  and  of  just  such  roving 
as  we  proposed  to  enjoy. 

My  young  friend's  mission  was  either  to  illustrate  the  writer's 
impressions,  or  the  writer  purposed  following  the  facile  pencil 


viii  "  Qui  s  excuse  s  accuse!" 

with  his  graceful  pen.    Any  way,  it  was  to  be  "  A  rare  good 
g         time,"  and  I  need  not  say  with  what  alacrity  I  accepted  an  in- 
vitation to  "  come  along  and  throw  in  a  sketch  or  two." 

After  having  been  in  Holland  about  a  week  with  only  my 
sketching  companion,  it  occurred  to  me  to  inquire  after  our 
author.  I  then  learned,  not  without  a  momentary  pang,  that  he 
had  been  unavoidably  detained  in  England  and  could  not  join 
us  just  then ;  we  were  to  meet  him  later  on  at  some  place  in 
North  Holland.  I  did  not  pursue  my  inquiries  to  the  verge  of 
indiscretion.  So  long  as  I  was  absorbing  all  my  own  share  and 
part  of  the  absent  one's  of  the  prevailing  "  Good  Time,"  I 
allowed  my  light-hearted  friend  and  ske'tcher  to  banish  what- 
ever regret  the  "  unavoidable  circumstance "  might  call  for. 
But  as  we  meandered  on  through  the  placid,  dreamy  low- 
land landscapes  of  Cuyp  and  Ruysdael,  even  into  far  North 
Holland,  never  did  we  descry  on  the  horizon's  farthest  verge  a 
single  bright  speck  that  told  the  coming  of  the  mislaid  author. 

Something  definite  ought  to  be  done :  sketches  were  ac- 
cumulating ;  experiences  were  delighting  and  even  teaching  us ; 
impressions  were  weighing  us  down — and  the  results  were  in 
danger  of  mildewing  for  want  of  proper  literary  preservation. 

We  wandered  about  weighed  down  by  the  sad  conviction 
that  we  had  been  culpably  careless  in  not  securing  our  author 
before  we  came  away.  It  was  only  after  chastening  our  proud 
spirits  with  a  few  days'  light  and  genial  suffering  in  the  minor 
dead  and  dying  cities  of  the  Zuider  Zee  that  we  became  at  all 
reconciled  to  our  loss ;  or  that  either  of  us  had  the  unblushing- 
humility  to  suggest  that,  after  all,  such  writing  as  need  be  done 
we  might  attempt  ourselves ! 

Gradually,  as  the  astounding  impertinence  of  this  idea  lost 


"  Qui  s  excuse  s "accuse?  ix 

the  charm  of  novelty,  we  began  to  see  the  responsibility  and 
magnitude  of  the  task  we  had  been  so  ready  to  undertake. 
Then  it  was  that  each  became  so  willing,  nay,  even  anxious,  that 
the  other  should  have  all  the  fun  and  glory  of  the  writing  all 
to  himself.  The  retiring,  modest  soul  would  assist  now  and. 
then  when  called  upon,  etc.  It  was  finally  settled,  by  some  odd 
or  even  chance,  that  I  should  do  the  book  on  the  above  pleasant 
understanding.  And  thus  it  is  that  I  find  myself  straying  into 
"fresh  woods  and  pastures  new,"  where  perhaps  I  have  earned 
no  right  to  tread.  It  is  a  very  pleasant  field,  no  doubt;  but  I 
have  no  wish  to  skip  about  with  the  shorn  lambs  in  the  un- 
tempered  wind  longer  than  is  good  for  me.  To  the  first  angry 
shout  of  the  watchful  shepherd,  "  Now,  then,  where  are  you 
going  to?"  I  am  quite  ready  to  reply,  "I'm  going  back  again!" 

VI  need  not  apologize  specially  for  the  various  little  errors, 
descriptive  and  statistical,  which  these  pages  doubtless  contain. 
I  did  not  yearn  to  write  a  guide-book,  there  are  such  good 
ones  already  in  the  field.  I  have  only  tried  to  give  the  impres- 
sions day  by  day  that  one  of  the  most  quaint  and  artist-beloved 
countries  in  the  world  made  upon  us.  I  will  in  no  way  warrant 
that  the  next  ramblers  will  see  our  things ;  or,  if  they  do,  that 
they  will  see  them  as  we  saw  them.  If  they  will  only  write 
down  their  views,  however,  as  fairly  as  I  have  tried  to  do  mine, 
I  promise  to  read  even  a  flat  contradiction  of  me  with  the  deep- 
est complacency,  and  even  a  certain  degree  of  positive  pleasure. 

G.  H.  Boughton. 
West  House,  Campden  Hill,  London,  W.,  May,  1884. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

/.  Off  for  North  Holland   i 

II.  In  and  About  Haarlem   14 

III.  Amsterdam   29 

IV.  Off  to  Zaandam   40 

V.  Mar  ken  and  Monnickendam   58 

VI.  Off  for  Fries  land   85 

VII.  Leeuwarden  .  .   98 

VIII.  Zwolle   127 

IX.  Northward  by  Canal   134 

X.  Alkmaar   143 

XI.  Hoorn  and  Edam   157 

XII.  On  to  Scheveningen  and  Veere   1 79 

XIII.  Back  Again   189 

XIV.  Middelburg   199 

XV.  Jacob's  Return  ...    210 

XVI.  Domburg  and  the  Dikes   .  ,219 

XVII.  Goes,  and  Elsewhere  .  227 

XVIII.  Katwyck-Without  238 

XIX.  K a twyck- Within  247 

XX.  0 tidewater.    .    .    .    .  260 


xii  Contents. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI  Gouda   272 

XXII.  Muiden   277 

XXIII.  Zaandfoort     297 

XXI  Va  Utrecht  and  Arnheim   305 

XXV.  Bois-le-Duc  0.325 

XXVI.  Maes trie /it,  and  Home  Again  «  334 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Page 

On  a  North  Holland  Boat    .    .    .    .    G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  Frontispiece. 

One  of  Them   "  "  Dedication. 

On  the  Edge  of  Holland  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  6 

Dort  Cathedral  From  a  Photograph.  9 

The  Dordrecht  Fire  Department    .  E.  A.  Abbey.  12 

A  Milkmaid  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  13 

A  Morning  Observation  in  Haarlem  "           "  15 

The  Market-Place,  Haarlem  E.  A.  Abbey.  19 

The  Potato  Gatherers  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  21 

Women  of  the  Pull  Boats  .    .    .    ,  "           "  23 

Dutch  Galleons  From  a  PHOTOGRAPH.  26 

New  Market,  Amsterdam  E.  A.  Abbey.  29 

Fisher-folk  of  the  Zuider  Zee                                         "        "  37 

About  Muidcn                                                .  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  41 

The  Grimy  Engineer  E.  A.  Abbey.  42 

In  Zaandam  FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH.  46 

Zaandam  Industries                                          "             "  49 

A  Fair  Daughter  of  Holland  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  51 

A  Young  Hollander                                               "           "  57 

A  Sketch  at  Mar  ken                                        .                 "  59 


XIV 


Illustrations. 


G.  H.  Boughton. 


Page 

61 

63 
69 

7i 

73 
79 
81 

84 
87 
9i 
95 
101 


Way  to  Monnickendam  

A  Bit  of  Mar  ken  "  " 

A  Drawer  of  Water  44  " 

A  Freeholder  of  Mar  ken  E.  A.  Abbey. 

Small  Citizens  .  G.  H.  BOUGHTON. 

Toll   E.  A.  Abbey. 

Small  People  of  Mar  ken  G.  H.  BOUGHTON. 

Jacob  

In  Friesland  

A  Sketch  at  Schellingwoude  

On  the  Friesland  Boat  

Fisher  Girl  of  Frisia  

Leeuwarden  Gossip  E.  A.  Abbey.  105 

An  Old  Gateway  

In  Church  

A  Youth  of  Promise  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  115 

Bedroom  in  the  Old  Chateau  "  "  117 

The  Righteous  Expostulations  of  Jacob  E.A,  ABBEY.  123 

One  of  the  Dead  Cities     .    .  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  126 

Sketch  at  Zzvolle  "  "  127 

The  Old  Rosier  .    .  E.  A.  Abbey.  131 

Waiting  for  the  Ferry-boat  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  133 

A11  Ostade  not  to  be  Forgotten  FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH.  135 

Shocking  Bad  Hats  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  138 

On  a  North  Holland  Canal  E.  A.  Abbey.  139 

Church  Porch  in  Alkmaar   "        "  149 

Jetsam  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  155 

Weeding  the  Streets  "  "  163 


109 
113 


Illustrations. 


xv 


Page 

Sketching  at  Edam  E.  A.  Abbey.  167 

A  Comer  in  Edam   171 

An  Idyl   "        "  175 

The  Morning  After   "        "  178 

In  Scheveningen   "        "  180 

Bell-Ringers   '*        *'  183 

View  of  Veer e   "  185 

We  Get  Some  Things   "        "  187 

A  Little  Girl  of  Veere   E.  A.  Abbey.    To  face  188 

An  Early  Sketch  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  190 

Part  of  the  Abbey,  Middelburg  J.  E.  ROGERS.  195 

In  the  Quadrangle  of  the  Abbey  E.  A.  Abbey.  201 

House  of  the  Golden  Sun  J.  E.  ROGERS.  206 

A  Rembrandt  We  Recall  FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH.  211 

Veere  E.  A.  Abbey.  215 

Town-Hall,  Veere  J.  E.  ROGERS.  217 

Chateau  of  Westhoeven   "        "  221 

West  Kappel  **  224 

Village  Behind  the  Dikes   .    .  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  225 


Sunday  Morning  in  Zeeland . 
Katwyck  ....... 

Katzvyck  -  Within  

As  We  Sketched  Her   .    .  . 

On  the  Dikes  

Signal  Woman  

Vegetable  Girl  

A  Brave  Maiden  of  Oude water 
Venus  and  Neptune .    .    .  . 


235 
240 
248 
249 

255 
259 
263 
269 
275 


xvi 


Illustrations. 


Page 

A  North  Sea  Skipper  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  281 

The  Castle  of  Muiden  "  "  283 

Old  Doorway  E.  A.  Abbey.  287 

A  Wayside  Cross  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  303 

Arnheim  J.  E.  Rogers.  307 

Market  Day  in  Arnheim   "        "  309 

The  Devils  House  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  315 

Wet  Sunday  at  Arnheim  "  "  319 

Nijmegen  J.  E.  ROGERS.  323 

Old  Gateway  in  Nijmegen   "        "  327 

A  Tiller  of  the  Soil  G.  H.  BOUGHTON.  335 

Field  Work  *  "  "  339 

The  Boys  we  Left  Behind  Us  "  u  342 


SKETCHING  RAMBLES  IN  HOLLAND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

OFF  FOR  NORTH  HOLLAND. 

AVERY  large  opal  or  the  inside  of  a  mother-of-pearl  shell 
would  make  a  good  background  for  this  thin  strip  of 
distant  Holland  that  lies  blinking  away  in  the  early 
morning  light.  A  long,  narrow  ribbon  of  a  picture  it  makes, 
with  its  little  spots  and  dots  and  splashes  of  color  here  and 
there,  accidental  here  and  methodical  there,  as  if  part  of  a  pat- 
tern. By  carefully  looking  through  a  glass,  these  dots  of  vari- 
ous shapes  and  sizes  soon  resolve  themselves  into  windmills, 
cows,  sheep,  Dutchmen,  churches,  and  steeples,  and  little  red- 
tiled  houses,  with  green  or  blue  shutters.  I  do  not  pretend  that 
this  is  a  peculiar  or  striking  instance  of  the  first  glimpse  of  a 
foreign  strand,  with  its  cows,  windmills,  and  steeples — I  know  of 
other  such  places  —  but  I  contend  that  the  Dutch  sand-slip  is 
cleaner  than  any  other  that  there  is,  the  cows  are  sleeker  and 
fatter,  the  windmills  more  jaunty  and  active,  the  cottages  more 
spick-and-span  and  more  recently  out  of  a  toy-box,  the  specks 
of  humanity  more  rotund  and  well-to-do.  Never,  except  on 
some  other  strip  of  Dutch  strand,  will  you  see  just  such  specks 
as  these.    And  as  we  draw  nearer  the  shore,  and  the  bits  of 


2 


Spontaneity  of  Dutch  Szmrises. 


color  take  more  definite  form,  there  is  no  mistake — this  is  Hol- 
land, and  no  other  land  at  all. 

Flushing  is  still  in  the  dim,  hazy  distance.  It  is  the  lumi- 
nous haze  of  an  early  autumnal  morning  at  sunrise.  Such  a 
morning  and  such  a  scene  are  well  worth  coming  these  few 
miles  to  see,  even  if  we  see  nothing  else,  and  take  the  returning 
boat  back  to  England.  I  don't  mean  to  compare  it  to  an  Al- 
pine sunrise,  in  order  to  give  the  preference  either  way.  The 
charm  of  this  particular  sunrise  is  its  unexpectedness :  it  was 
not  down  in  the  programme.  We  had  not  been  preparing  for 
it  for  days ;  we  had  bribed  no  one  to  wake  us  at  some  unholy 
hour ;  we  had  not  made  the  hour  more  unholy  still  by  strong 
language  against  all  mountains,  sunrises,  guides,  and  the  peo- 
ple concerned  in  turning  us  out  into  the  marrow-chilling  mists, 
eyes  blinking  and  teeth  a-chatter,  with  no  deeper  wish  than  that 
it  were  done  with,  and  we  could  go  to  breakfast. 

We  had  come  from  London  by  the  Queensborough  and 
Flushing  route.  The  vessels  are,  no  doubt,  the  largest  and  fin- 
est that  cross  that  ever-vexed  bit  of  sea,  which  often  tries  the 
inner  consciousness  more  than  the  Atlantic  itself.  One  great 
charm  of  this  route  is  that  you  glide  peacefully  down  the 
Thames  for  miles,  and  are  safe  in  your  berth  and,  haply,  asleep 
before  the  ship  begins  her  playful  skipping  over  the  Channel 
waves.  The  chances  are  that  you  reach  this  quiet  bit  of  water 
on  the  other  side  before  you  wake.  You  do  not  bump  about 
outside  a  harbor  bar,  either,  just  a  few  minutes  before  landing. 
There  is  time  to  compose  one's  self — if  one  has  not  rested  well, 
to  put  it  mildly — before  facing  the  little  ordeal  of  landing  at  an 
unearthly  hour  in  a  strange  country.  They  give  you  a  very  good 
breakfast  on  board  the  steamer,  and  plenty  of  time  for  it,  too,  on 
that  bit  of  smooth  water.  You  reach  Flushing  in  a  good  tem- 
per ;  and  a  good  temper  has  very  much  to  do  with  the  truthful- 


First  Impressions. 


3 


ness  of  first  impressions.  There  is  plenty  of  time,  too,  to  note 
down  our  "  first  impressions  "  of  this  land  flowing  with  milk — I 
am  not  sure  about  the  honey,  but  certain  about  the  butter  and 
cheese,  if  they  can  be  said  to  flow.  Somebody  has  said  that  you 
do  not  "land"  in  Holland, but  "go  on  board."  That  must  have 
been  written  long  before  Flushing  harbor  was  built,  as  that  seems 
solid  and  substantial  enough,  however  lightly  moored  the  rest  of 
the  country  may  be  behind  it. 

There  are  trains  in  waiting  for  all  sorts  of  places,  but  there 
is  no  hurry.  Never  did  we  see  the  so-called  express  train  in  any 
unseemly  haste  in  Holland.  There  is  time  and  to  spare  for  the 
pleasant  farce  of  the  custom-house  examination.  The  official 
kindly  selected  the  easiest  thing  to  undo,  and  asked  if  we  were 
going  to  stay  in  Holland  or  going  farther  on.  Ere  the  straps 
were  unbuckled  fairly,  he  scuffled  on  his  cabalistic  chalk-mark, 
and  we  were  free. 

Some  one  fond  of  telling  pleasant  lies  has  said  that  with 
the  English  and  French  languages  you  can  go  anywhere  in  the 
Low  Countries.  But  when  one  asks  an  intelligent  railway  of- 
ficial where  the  ticket-office  is,  and  he  looks  puzzled,  not  to  say 
pained,  and  we  put  the  question  in  another  form,  and  point  to  a 
crowd  at  the  far  end  of  the  rambling  station  and  say  "  Ticket- 
office  ?"  and  he  says  "  Yes,"  and  nods  vigorously,  and  we  rush  off 
and  find  the  refreshment-bar  instead,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
faith  in  the  prevalence  of  English  in  Holland  is  somewhat 
shaken.  However,  as  often  happens,  when  the  "  trusted  "  fails, 
the  "  least  expected  "  comes  to  the  rescue.  A  newsboy  of  sixty 
summers,  with  an  armful  of  jaw- dislocating  Dutch  morning 
papers,  obligingly  marshalled  us  the  way  that  we  were  already 
going,  in  the  direction  of  the  other  small  crowd,  which  did  mean 
tickets. 

It  is  a  sad  thing  to  feel  that  you  don't  want  the  morning 


4 


Dutch  Numismatics. 


paper.  The  titles  were  enough.  I  began  to  feel  that  I  could 
not  read  at  all.  The  newsboy  was  a  godsend,  however ;  he  set 
aside  all  thought  of  disseminating  early  morning  Dutch  litera- 
ture, and  put  his  services  as  interpreter  entirely  at  our  disposal. 
He  kindly  prevented  us  from  rewarding  him  too  scantily  for  his 
services  by  explaining  that  the  ten  coins  of  rather  good  design 
and  size,  but  dubious  color,  were  only  worth  two-pence.  We 
continued  "paying  out"  (to  use  a  combination  of  nautical  and 
commercial  terms)  until  a  beam  of  satisfaction  showed  upon  his 
weather-beaten  countenance.  It  is  a  trying  moment  for  a  "  hap- 
py-go-lucky "  temperament  to  find  itself  early  in  the  morning  in 
a  strange  land,  face  to  face  with  problems  of  a  new  and  uncanny- 
looking  currency.  Two  or  three  of  the  biggest  of  the  coins 
won't  go  into  any  decent  purse,  and  if  left  loose  in  the  trousers 
pocket  they  go  rasping  and  knocking  about,  setting  the  teeth  on 
edge,  and  jamming  the  fingers  that  are  in  search  of  smaller 
coinage  about  the  size  of  shirt -buttons.  It  seemed  part  of 
a  liberal  education  to  get  up  a  knowledge  of  the  intermediate 
specimens — combinations  of  copper,  nickel,  bronze,  pewter,  and 
silver.  Still,  it  must  be  done ;  it  would  never  do  to  go  on  pay- 
ing away  at  this  rate. 

"  We  ought  to  have  some  sort  of  system.  Suppose  you 
pay  for  all,  and  we  will  settle  up — " 

"  Some  time,"  said  the  most  careless  of  us  to  the  most 
reckless  (or  the  reverse,  if  he  like  it  better).  It  cast  a  gloom 
of  its  own  over  us,  and  nearly  settled  us  for  the  day. 

The  first  impressions — which  are  supposed  to  be  everything 
— of  a  new  country,  as  seen  from  the  bedrizzled  windows  of 
an  express  train,  are  not  always  worth  writing  down.  It  is 
only  as  you  linger  a  few  minutes  at  a  wayside  station  that  you 
begin  to  note  the  little  differences  that  make  it  evident  that 
you  are  at  some  distance  from  home.    Many  a  hasty  sketch 


Dordrecht.  5 

we  made  from  the  convenient  end  windows  of  the  railway  car- 
riage, of  the  bits  of  character  and  incident  seen  on  the  plat- 
forms of  the  village  stations.  Such  is  the  dignified  repose  of 
the  Dutch  that  we  could  generally  make  a  tolerably  complete 
sketch  before  they  moved.  Seldom  was  the  sketch-book  out 
of  hand,  or  the  well-sharpened  pencil  unready. 

If  the  study  of  the  relative  values  of  Dutch  money  is  not 
cheering,  it  is  not  much  relief  to  turn  to  the  pages  of  a  Dutch 
railway  time-table.  As  we  had  been  forced  to  admit  the  ne- 
cessity of  "  some  system  "  with  regard  to  expenditure,  we  put 
off  the  evil  day  of  arranging  any  very  definite  route  until  the 
morrow.  We  had  two  objective  points— North  Holland  and 
Friesland  —  and  so  long  as  we  came  to  these  in  good  time, 
and  by  direct  or  indirect  wanderings,  the  other  places  might 
arrange  themselves  as  Time  and  happy  Chance  should  will. 
We  decided  not  to  go  straight  on  to  Amsterdam  the  first  day, 
but  to  break  our  journey  at  Haarlem. 

Many  artists  consider  this  delightful  old  town  as  one  of  the 
greatest  attractions  in  all  Holland.  To  go  to  Holland  and 
not  to  visit  the  shrine  of  Franz  Hals  is  like  going  to  Italy  and 
leaving  out  Venice.  On  our  way  to  Haarlem,  however,  we 
came  to  Dordrecht;  and  as  all  the  delights  of  form  and  color 
of  that  most  deeply  dyed  of  all  picturesque  towns  "  wheeled 
into  our  ken,"  we  began  to  loudly  and  bitterly  lament  that  we 
were  not  to  stop  and  explore  them  then  and  there.  To  our 
aid  came  a  good-natured  Dutch  fellow-passenger,  speaking  Eng- 
lish, who  assured  us  that  we  could  stop  over  three  hours,  and 
go  on  by  the  next  train  to  Haarlem,  and  that  our  luggage, 
booked  therefor,  would  be  as  safely  awaiting  us  in  the  station 
as  if  we  had  never  lost  sight  of  it.  No  sooner  said  than  done. 
A  man  and  his  luggage  are  as  soon  parted  as  the  fool  and  his 
money.    Our  good-natured  friend  explained  to  the  ticket -col- 


6 


A  Dutch  Villa. 


lector — I  fancy  we  had  no  real  right  to  break  the  journey  at 
Dort,  but  they  seem  curiously  amiable  on  Dutch  railways — 
and  we  passed  out  of  the  station  and  faced  toward  the  town. 

We  did  not  respond  to  the  pantomimic  blandishments  of 
the  tram-car  conductor,  preferring  to  wander  at  our  own  sweet 
will,  and  get  lost  if  possible.  A  very  modern  sort  of  Dutch 
villa,  with  a  misbegotten  little  Mansard  roof,  plate -glass  win- 
dows, muslin  curtains  of  sprawling  pattern,  parted  in  the  cen- 
tre to  display  a  cockety  veneered  table  sustaining  a  basket  of 


wax  fruit  and  a  couple  of  sickly  Parian  statuettes,  a  small 
garden  with  paths  of  black  cinders,  surrounded  with  wood 
palings  painted  a  rich  arsenic  green,  and  outside  the  palings 
a  little,  pathetic  moat,  covered  with  duck-weed,  running  en- 
tirely round  the  small  domain,  and  around  and  over  all  an 
unmistakable  bouquet  of  strangulated  drainage — this  was 
the  first  picture  we  stopped  a  moment  to  take  in  (mentally 
only).  It  was  not  exactly  what  we  came  on  purpose  to  see, 
but  we  were   not  dismayed.    Did  we  not  see  gleaming  in 


A  Skirmish  Through  Dort. 


7 


the  distance  the  lovely  tower  of  the  cathedral,  and  the  mar- 
vellous roofs  of  the  old  houses,  tiled  with  every  hue  of  soft, 
velvety  red ;  towers,  gables,  and  spires,  with  the  golden  weather- 
cocks, all  looking  like  delicate  tracery  on  the  gray-blue  sky  be- 
yond ?    Onward ! 

But,  first  of  all,  to  restore  the  circulation,  my  companion 
indulged  in  a  few  steps  of  a  darky  dance,  known  among  the 
select  few  as  the  "  Essence  of  Ole  Virginny."  This,  executed 
on  the  broad  highway  by  a  small,  neat  youth,  nearly  if  not 
quite  concealed  by  a  monumental  ulster,  bristling  with  scores 
of  uncanny  flaps  and  pockets,  brought  a  hitherto  unseen  and 
undreamed  -  of  crowd  of  smiling  but  wondering  natives  up, 
seemingly  from  the  ground. 

"  What  on  earth  are  they  looking  at  ?  Is  there  anything 
peculiar  about  me  or  this  ulster?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,  my  dear  boy.    Come  on." 

It  was  agreed  that  there  was  to  be  no  sketching,  merely  a 
skirmish  to  see  all  we  could,  and  then  get  back  in  time  to 
catch  the  train,  leaving  the  serious  business  of  carefully  doing 
it  until  another  visit;  that  is  to  say,  if  we  found  Dort,  on  near 
inspection,  turn  out  to  be  what  it  promised  from  afar.  We 
had  nearly  three  hours  before  us.  Many  a  bigger  place  has 
been  "  done "  for  good  and  all  in  less  time.  For  the  first 
quarter  of  an  hour  we  carefully  noted  the  lay  of  the  land  and 
the  various  turnings,  so  as  to  find  our  way  back  again  with- 
out being  obliged  to  ask.  But  soon  the  interest  began  to 
thicken,  the  turnings  were  unnoted,  and  neither  of  us  knew 
nor  cared  where  we  were,  so  long  as  we  were  going  from  one 
moving  picture  to  another.  We  did  not  refer  to  Murray  or 
Baedeker,  uselessly  bulging  out  our  coat  pockets;  what  we 
were  simple  enough  to  enjoy  most  of  all,  those  excellent 
guides  took  no  note  of.    The  church  tower  was  our  guiding 


8 


Fragrance  of  Dort. 


star;  and  as  we  moved  from  foreground  to  foreground,  so  to 
speak,  how  splendidly  it  "  composed  "  with  the  masses  of  quaint 
gables  and  high  red  roofs ;  then  with  tops  of  trees,  golden 
with  autumnal  colors ;  then  with  tangle  of  shipping,  bewilder- 
ments of  masts,  brown  sails,  spars,  ropes,  and  flapping  pennons; 
now  at  the  end  of  a  long  canal,  with  the  multiform  and  mul- 
ticolored backs  of  houses  overhanging  either  side ;  now  again 
at  the  end  of  a  long  street  of  elaborately  gabled  houses  filled 
with  picturesque  bustle  and  life !  Threading  in  and  out  the 
ever -moving  kaleidoscope  of  form  and  color,  as  spots  of 
high  light,  were  the  white  caps  of  the  women -folk,  with  their 
gold  ornaments  glinting  in  the  sunlight  —  all  this  through 
ever- shifting  veils  of  pale -blue  peat  smoke.  And  over  and 
above  all  these  varying,  moving  sketches  wafted  a  strange 
tangle  of  queer  and  not  often  unpleasant  odors  —  peat  reek 
and  the  various  tarry  smells  of  the  shipping,  coffee  being 
roasted  or  ground  on  the  pavement  in  front  of  grocers'  shops, 
all  the  spices  of  the  Indies  seeming  now  and  then  to  get 
mixed  with  the  inevitable  escape  of  gassy  smells  from  old 
gas-pipes  being  grubbed  up,  and  having  a  battle  royal  for  pre- 
eminence. Happily,  the  coffee,  spices,  and  peat  smoke  in  most 
instances  appeared  to  have  the  best  of  it. 

Dort  seemed  well  off  for  rivers — three,  not  over  silvery  or 
limpid,  and  yet  to  a  painter's  eye  not  of  an  uninviting  muddy 
tone,  gray,  green,  or  yellow,  sometimes  in  separate  tints,  some- 
times in  mixtures,  as  they  lay  stagnant  here  or  swirled  swiftly 
there  past  the  dikes,  walls,  and  bridges  of  the  old  town,  mak- 
ing not  one  island  of  it,  but  several.  The  breeze  seems  to 
have  a  fine  chance  for  play  round  Dort ;  the  brown  and  yel- 
low sails  scud  by,  and  the  windmills  far  and  near  seem  cut 
loose  or  working  for  a  wager. 

By  degrees,  taking  no  note  of  time  or  direction  in  our  wan- 


The  Cathedral. 


9 


derings,  we  came  to  the  cathedral  itself.  Just  a  peep  inside 
we  agreed  to,  but  it  was  far  from  easy  to  find  the  entrance. 
Every  door  that  seemed  the  right  one  was  not,  and  we  were 


DORT  CATHEDRAL. 


fain  to  ask  our  way  in  best  pantomime.  We  were  shown  the 
koster's  residence — a  humble  wooden  excrescence  jammed  be- 
tween the  buttresses  of  the  main  building,  with  a  pathetic  little 


IO 


A  Ruined  Interior. 


green -painted  door.  We  knocked,  and  a  tidy,  smiling  dame, 
speaking  never  a  word,  but  looking  unutterably  intelligent 
and  willing,  led  us  through  her  little  De  -  Hooge  -  like  kitchen, 
with  its  blue  and  white  tiles,  its  pots  and  pans  glistening,  like 
burnished  gold  and  silver,  and  something  uncommonly  nice 
bubbling  in  a  gold -like  saucepan  on  the  fire.  We  looked  so 
long  and  admiringly  on  this  unexpected  picture  that  the  good 
woman  must  have  thought  us  famished :  it  could  not  have 
been  ready,  that  bubbling,  fragrant  stew,  or  I  feel  sure  she 
would  have  offered  us  some  there  and  then.  There  was 
a  large,  fluffy,  comfortable  cat  curled  up  on  a  cushion  on 
the  easy-chair:  evidently  the  church  mice  were  not  so  poor, 
nor  scarce,  either.  A  large,  open  Bible  with  opulent  silver 
clasps  was  on  a  small  table,  and  near  it  a  gray  -  and  -  blue 
mug  filled  with  pale -yellow  chrysanthemums.  It  was  a  won- 
der that  we  tore  ourselves  away  from  this  simple  little  ditty 
in  color  to  the  "  frozen  music  "  of  the  cathedral  interior  beyond. 

It  was  not  a  very  cheerful  strain  of  "  frozen  music  "  either, 
that  particular  interior,  as  we  saw  it.  It  might  have  been 
once.  Alas !  the  demons  of  sacrilegious  havoc,  the  flaming 
torch,  the  invaders'  cannon-shot,  the  pick  and  crowbar,  and 
even  the  simple,  but  efficient,  half -brick  through  the  stained- 
glass  windows,  had  done  much.  The  foolish  restorer,  with  his 
mud-pie  of  stucco  and  his  ghastly  shroud  of  whitewash,  had 
done  more.  The  "  tooth  of  time "  had  mumbled  off  choice 
bits  of  rare  carving  in  wood  and  stone.  But  still,  there  it 
was  : 

"  There  was  a  something  in  its  look 
That  murder  could  not  kill." 

If  the  pious  Dutchmen  of  the  good  old  days  could  only  see 
the  present  state  of  their  temple,  reared  with  such  reverence 
and  toil  to  the  Most  High,  I  fancy  that  they  would  think  the 


A  Conflagration. 


boasted  progress  of  this  age  rather  crab -like  in  some  matters 
of  taste  and  refinement. 

Out,  somewhat  sadly  and  rather  chilled,  into  the  bright  air 
again.  We  found  it  time  to  get  back  to  the  railway,  and  began 
to  think  of  some  pantomime  expressing  that  end  and  aim. 
But  first  let  us  try  a  little  plain  English  on  this  man  loading 
a  truck  with  beer- barrels.  "Railway  station?  I  will  schouw 
you  the  way."  And  he  left  his  truck  and  took  us  down  sev- 
eral streets  until  we  struck  the  tram-line.  He  told  the  con- 
ductor our  destination,  made  light  of  our  thanks,  and  away  we 
went,  with  infinite  jingling  of  bells  and  tooting  of  horn,  and 
snipping  of  tickets  with  a  bell-punch  as  big  and  as  dangerous- 
looking  as  an  army  revolver.  It  was  a  new  tramway,  and 
proudly  they  seemed  to  regard  it.  The  conductor  looked  like 
an  admiral  of  the  fleet.  At  the  station  we  found  but  one  sol- 
itary small  boy  at  the  telegraph  office.  Everybody  else,  he  ex- 
plained, had  gone  to  see  the  fire — and  the  train  expected  in  a 
few  minutes ! 

There  was  a  fire  somewhere  near  by,  and,  sure  enough, 
down  quite  at  the  end  of  the  long  platform  was  the  entire 
staff  of  the  station,  even  the  cook,  in  white  cap  and  apron, 
gazing  off  into  the  dim  distance  —  all  except  the  small  boy. 
We  sought  a  restaurant  opposite,  and  tried  to  get  something 
from  the  solitary  waiter  who  couldn't  get  away.  He  was  evi- 
dently distracted  between  duty  to  us  and  impulse  to  rush  off 
to  the  scene  of  conflagration.  He  brought  us  a  jam  sand- 
wich for  ham,  which  was  a  near  shot  for  one  in  his  state  of 
agitation.  We  had  a  good  opportunity  while  sitting  by  the 
window  to  see  something  of  the  Fire  Department.  The  en- 
gine went  by,  but  very  deliberately  and  with  much  hesitation. 
We  had  even  time  to  sketch  it,  as  it  rested  for  a  time,  while 
somebody  went  back  for  something.     The  station  cook  and 


I  2 


Exciting  Scenes. 


party  came  upon  the  scene  by  this  time ;  and  between  his  ad- 
vice to  go  back,  as  it  was  all  over,  and  the  railway  porter's 
advice  to  go  on,  as  it  was  still  smoking,  if  not  burning,  we 
got  time  to  do  a  good  bit.  However,  at  last  the  prudent 
counsel  of  the  porter  seemed  to  prevail,  and  the  machine 
finally  meandered  quietly  off  in  the  direction  of  the  late  fire, 
pushed  and  dragged  by  a  very  scratch  company,  and  followed 
by  the  chattering  crowd.  Fires  are  not  of  frequent  occur- 
rence, evidently,  in  Dort,  and  they  probably  had  not  seen  that 
archaic  old  "  squirt "  out  for  years.  What  wonder  that  they 
moved  it  gently,  for  fear  of  internal  injury. 


THE  DORDRECHT  FIRE  DEPARTMENT. 


The  distant  scream  of  the  coming  train  warned  us  to  the 
station,  and  we  were  soon  on  board  again,  well  pleased  with 
our  three  hours'  experience.  I  think  that  one  of  us  told  the 
other  the  story  of  the  Western  man  on  a  Mississippi  steamer 
who  got  off  at  a  "  wood-up  "  station,  where  the  boat  would  be 
detained  an  hour.  He  asked  the  captain  if  there  would  be 
time  enough  to  see  the  town.  The  captain  thought  there 
would.  The  traveller  returned  in  an  hour  with  both  eyes  in 
mourning;  his  coat  was  torn  up  the  back,  and  he  had  evi- 
dently been  rolled  in  the  mud. 


A  Reminiscence. 


13 


"Have  you  enjoyed  your  walk?"  asked  the  captain. 

"  Oh,  very  much  indeed.  There  was  a  free  fight  going  on 
up  in  the  village,  and  I  asked  if  they  would  count  me  in,  and 
they  did,  and  so  I  took  a  hand  in ;  and  then,  after  a  time,  I 
asked  again,  '  Is  this  a  free  fight  ?'  and  they  said  it  was.  So  I 
said  they  might  count  me  out,  and  I  came  away.  For  a  small 
place,  I  found  it  most  lively  and  amusing.  I  enjoyed  it  very 
much." 

The  amusements  of  Dort  are  not,  in  the  present  age,  of 
this  nature.  There  may  have  been  such  opportunities  during 
the  troubled  times  of  the  wars  of  the  Middle  Ages. 


CHAPTER  II. 


IN  AND  ABOUT  HAARLEM. 

OUR  luggage  was  safe  enough  at  Haarlem  station,  and 
|  we  were  soon  comfortably  housed  at  the  Hotel  Fiinck- 
ler — landlord  and  all  his  people  speaking  English,  and 
probably  all  the  modern  languages,  if  required.  Haarlem  seems 
prim  and  quiet,  not  to  say  sleepy,  after  Dort.  It  was  too  late  to 
see  the  pictures  that  day,  so  we  rambled  about  town,  sketching 
bits  of  streets,  canals,  people — anything  that  came  in  our  way. 
We  were  soon  struck  by  the  deep  interest  the  Dutch  people  of 
every  class  seem  to  take  in  any  one  sketching.  They  will 
leave  their  dearest  and  most  absorbing  pursuits,  business, 
home,  friends,  to  come  and  look  on.  You  will  not  have  time 
to  get  a  dozen  lines  in  your  book  before  you  feel  some  one 
breathing  almost  in  your  ear.  They  are  generally  eating  some- 
thing, if  they  are  women  or  girls,  or  smoking,  if  they  are  men 
or  boys;  but  they  are  quiet  and  kind  enough.  There  is  no 
sort  of  use  in  looking  severely  at  them,  with  a  "  What-do-you- 
want  ?"  expression.  They  calmly  eat  or  smoke,  and  look 
rather  injured,  or  else  return  stare  for  stare  with  interest. 
Sometimes  one  would  try  the  effect  of  turning  over  the  leaf 
and  beginning  to  write  a  few  notes.  It  was  seldom  of  any 
use ;  he  would  still  find  himself  a  centre  of  attraction.  If 
he  stand  with  his  back  to  a  wall,  they  will  try  to  squeeze 
their  heads  round  back  of  the  book,  or  else  they  will  plant 
themselves  well  in  front  of  him,  and  stop  by  the  hour  together 


A  MORNING  OBSERVATION  IN  HAARLEM. 


Modern  Haarlem  Architecture.  17 

if  he  will.  The  only  way  is  not  to  mind  their  profound  and 
intimate  scrutiny. 

Haarlem  is  being  modernized  at  a  furious  rate.  Some  of 
the  old  canals  have  been  filled  up  and  made  into  "  boulevards." 
One  was  being  filled  up :  we  went  out  of  our  way  to  see  if  it 
were  "  sketchable."  It  certainly  was  not  bad,  with  its  inky,  pent- 
up  waters,  the  banks  piled  high  with  sea-sand,  the  men  pitching 
it  in  with  great  wooden  spades.  But,  oh  !  the  perfume  !  Sulphu- 
retted hydrogen  was  the  most  innocent  element  of  the  peculiar 
"  bouquet."  It  was  enough  to  stop  a  clock ;  and  yet  they  didn't 
seem  to  mind  it.  Small  boys  were  playing  with  little  boats  in 
it.  Some  men  from  a  tobacco  factory  near  by  were  wetting 
the  leaves  of  the  plant  in  this  fragrant,  aroma-giving  element. 
I  suppose  that  they  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  using  the 
canal  for  the  same  purpose,  and  it  never  occurred  to  them  to 
stop  because  the  water  was  getting  a  trifle  richer  in  quality. 

Around  these  new  boulevards  is  springing  up  the  modern 
Dutch  villa — the  pet  production  of  speculative  builders  all  the 
world  over.  Some  were  better,  and  some  a  little  worse,  than 
the  one  faintly  hinted  at  in  our  few  words  about  Dort.  Al- 
though Holland  abounds  with  the  most  delightful  specimens 
of  domestic  architecture  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  cen- 
turies, they  seldom  care  to  revive  it  when  they  build  a  new 
house.  There  seems  to  be  but  one  approved  style  now,  and 
that  the  very  worst  style  of  French  villa,  with  its  dull,  dark, 
"  Mansard "  roof.  There  is  also  an  almost  universal  run  on 
a  certain  garden  statue  in  plaster,  the  most  ill-modelled  child, 
with  a  short  tunic,  holding  a  basket  of  chalk  fruit  on  its  sim- 
pering, idiotic  head.  No  garden  is  complete  without  that,  and, 
if  the  means  of  the  owner  permit,  a  large  globe  of  shining, 
quicksilvered  glass,  in  which  are  reflected  the  most  awful  distor- 
tions of  every  surrounding  object.    Those  who  are  tired  of 

2 


1 8  The  Studio  of  Wouvermans. 

hearing  of  "  high  art "  and  "  aesthetics,"  of  harmonies  and  sym- 
phonies of  color,  of  dadoes  and  old  bric-a-brac,  should  come 
here  to  rest  the  troubled  brain.  If  one  could  only  stay  a  few 
months  with  the  owner  of  one  of  these  villas !  The  people  are 
by  no  means  backward  in  displaying  their  objects  cie  luxe — 
mostly  wax  flowers  or  French  vases.  Gilt-edged  books,  bound 
in  good,  old-fashioned,  positive  colors,  including  now  and  then 
a  cover  in  a  tint  of  "  magenta  "  that  might  have  been  distilled 
from  long-pent-up  and  suffering  canal  water ;  these,  massed  in 
brass -bound  book -slides,  and  waited  on  by  a  Muse  or  two 
in  plaster  of  Paris,  are  on  the  veneered  table  between  the 
parted  curtains  of  every  one  of  these  new  abodes.  Wander- 
ing along  one  of  the  canals,  we  stopped  to  admire  a  crow- 
stepped,  gabled  house  of  time -toned  velvety  brick.  We  read 
on  a  tablet  high  up  the  name  of  Ph.  Wouvermans.  Yes,  that 
must  have  been  his  studio  window — that  large  one.  A  pleas- 
ant house,  and  a  substantial,  well-to-do  air  all  about  it.  A  pleas- 
ant spot,  too,  by  the  tree-shaded  canal.  Wonder  if  it  is  still 
a  studio?  It  looks  like  it.  It  almost  tempts  one  to  ring  the 
bell  and  ask  if  Heer  Wouvermans  is  at  home. 

We  passed  out  of  the  town  through  the  one  fine  old  pos- 
tern-gate left  standing,  and  wandered  off  a  little  way  into  the 
country  to  see  how  that  looked.  There  were  no  shady  lanes, 
nor  stone  walls  nor  fences  to  obstruct  the  view.  The  narrow, 
rush-fringed  ditch  runs  around  and  through  each  little  domain. 
It  was,  fortunately,  during  the  potato  gathering,  and  the  groups 
of  women  and  children  at  work  in  the  fields  were  most  pictu- 
resque. I  am  not  particularly  fond  of  the  idea  of  women  do- 
ing the  hard  field-work  that  they  sometimes  engage  in;  but 
potato  digging,  picking,  sack-filling,  and  the  rest  of  it  are  such 
very  picturesque  and  easy -looking  proceedings  that  one  is 
tempted  to  look  upon  it  as  a  feminine  accomplishment  or  pas- 


THE  MARKET-PLACE,  HAARLEM. 


Women  s  Work. 


THE  POTATO  GATHERERS. 


time,  like  hay-making.  But  the  women  do  in  Holland  a  num- 
ber of  masculine  tasks,  and  very  temptingly  most  of  them  "  com- 
pose "  for  the  sketcher's  benefit.  As  solid,  well -set -up  speci- 
mens of  healthy  humanity  the  women  have  often  the  advantage 
over  the  men.  It  is  a  treat  to  see  a  powerful  young  Dutch- 
woman handle  a  rope  on  a  pull-boat. 

There  are  still  in  Haarlem  a  goodly  number  of  charming  old 
houses  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Some  of  their  gables  lean 
rather  forward  towards  the  street,  or  sideways  towards  their 
next-door  neighbor,  in  a  way  suggestive  of  fundamental  debility. 
At  first  sight  it  seems  safer  to  walk  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
and  look  out  for  falling  bricks.  But  one  soon  gets  over  the 
tottery  character;  in  fact,  some  one  told  us  that  they  were  built 
originally  at  that  angle  forward.  When  they  lean  sideways  peo- 
ple admit  the  mouldering  pile  beneath,  and  own  to  the  sinkage. 


22 


The  Progressive  Dutchman. 


The  fine  old  city  walls  and  ramparts  that  withstood  the  famous 
siege  have  been  pulled  down,  all  but  one  dignified  gateway,  a 
splendid  specimen  of  its  kind,  and  picturesque  to  the  last  de- 
gree. That  is  all  that  is  left  to.  illustrate  one  of  the  greatest 
chapters  in  the  history  of  Haarlem.  The  boulevard  and  the 
tram-car  have  risen  over  the  dust  of  all  the  rest.  I  should 
like  to  say  something  more  worthy  of  this  memorable  siege, 
there  is  such  a  splendid  opportunity;  but,  on  second  thought, 
perhaps  it  is  as  well  to  refer  the  reader  to  Motley,  and  not 
seek  to  supersede  that  admirable  historian. 

If  any  one  should  feel  inclined  to  notice  the  lack  of  serious 
purpose  in  this  writing,  let  me  hasten  to  say  that  we  scarcely 
had  a  serious  moment  there;  we  enjoyed  it  so  much  that  we 
found  no  time  to  get  serious.  There  is  no  use  whatever  in 
lamenting  the  sad  fact  that  the  Dutchman  of  to-day  will,  when- 
ever he  gets  a  chance,  pull  down  remorselessly  his  most  lovely 
old  ramparts  and  town  walls  or  halls,  or,  in  fact,  any  relic  of  the 
past,  to  make  way  for  a  boulevard  or  a  railway  station.  To  tell 
the  truth,  we  found  the  pickaxe  and  shovel  being  wielded  on 
one  or  two  old  city  gates  in  a  way  to  make  the  antiquarian's 
heart  bleed.  The  demon  of  improvement  seems  to  be  let  loose 
at  the  present  moment  all  over  the  land.  Perhaps  there  may  be 
some  good,  healthful  purpose  served,  after  all,  now  and  again. 
Wiser  heads  must  settle  these  matters ;  as  I  said  before,  let  us 
take  things  as  we  find  them. 

The  cathedral  at  Haarlem  is  not  so  fine  in  form  or  so  pict- 
uresquely situated  as  that  at  Dort,  but  it  seems  better  cared  for 
and  preserved.  The  restorer  has  not  enjoyed  himself  over  it 
from  time  to  time.  The  great  organ  is  its  show-piece.  It  did 
not  happen  to  play  while  we  were  visiting  the  church,  and,  as  we 
did  not  happen  to  want  it  to  play  seriously  enough  to  pay  the 
fee  for  the  far-famed  special  performance  (the  "  Thunder-storm," 


WOMEN  OF  THE  PULL-BOATS. 


The  Great  Organ. 


25. 


which  turns  all  the  neighboring  milk,  and  "  God  save  the  Queen," 
which  is  enough  to  loosen  all  one's  teeth),  we  did  not  hear  it  on 
that  occasion.  I,  for  one,  regret  it  now.  Although  I  have,  for 
the  moment,  spoken  lightly  of  that  tremendous  instrument,  I 
now  feel  that  we  missed  something. 

We  saw  the  interior  of  the  cathedral  in  the  dim  twilight,  which 
most  certainly  lent  enchantment  to  it.  Votive  offerings,  in  the 
shape  of  models  of  old  Dutch  galleons,  with  sails  all  set  and 
pennons  flying,  hung  from  the  ceiling  here  and  there.  These 
are  the  only  votive  offerings  left  to  tell  the  tale — gold,  silver, 
precious  stones,  changed  rapidly  into  other  spheres  of  usefulness 
during  the  long  wars.  It  was  no  use  melting  down  the  toy 
ships,  so  they  remain,  and  a  rare  comfort  they  are  to  the  art  stu- 
dent interested  in  the  marine  structures  "  of  the  period."  There 
is  rather  a  want  of  elegance  about  the  interior,  and,  to  speak 
kindly,  there  is  rather  a  vain  display  in  the  matter  of  whitewash. 
And  if  one  must  now  say  farewell  for  the  moment  to  the  mighty 
organ,  we  are  forced  to  admit  that  the  style  of  its  architecture  is 
as  far  from  being  serious  as  it  is  from  being  joyous.  It  is  rather 
frivolous,  with  its  flowers  like  cabbages,  and  its  elephantine  Cu- 
pids.   Nevertheless,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  see  it  again. 

The  museum,  with  its  glorious  magisterial  works  of  Hals,  not 
to  mention  other  fine  things,  is  well  worthy  even  a  special  pil- 
grimage to  any  with  a  spark  of  art  fire  alight,  or  with  even  a  good 
bit  of  art  tinder  in  their  souls  on  which  a  light  may  be  kindled. 
A  worthy  description  of  the  Hals  masterpieces  here  is  out  of 
the  question ;  it  would  only  tantalize  the  poor  art  student  who 
can't  get  at  them  at  once,  and  make  him  miserable  until  he 
could.  Such  is  not  our  motive.  "  Go  as  soon  as  you  get  the 
chance  "  is  all  there  is  to  be  said.  And  that  many  artists  do 
go  the  names  in  the  visitors'  book  testify.  I  saw  the  names 
of  Millais,  Frith,  and  Ouless,  the  ink  scarcely  dry. 


26 


Reflectio?is  of  Humbleness. 


The  sight  of  a  collection  like  this  is  apt  to  make  one  serious, 
it  seems  such  uphill  work  to  it.  That  is,  if  you  happen  to  wish 
to  go  in  that  particular  direction,  up  that  particular  hill  of  Franz 
Hals.  If  your  objective  point  be  the  towering  Titian,  Velas- 
quez, or  Rembrandt,  you  may  feel  inclined  to  make  light  of  the 
Hals  eminence;  but,  before  you  make  very  light  of  him,  my 
dear  young  or  old  friend  and  fellow-student,  try  and  do  just  a 
little  bit  worthy  to  go  anywhere  in  the  same  gallery  with  him, 
and  then  that  will  somewhat  help  you  on  your  way  to  Titian 
and  Velasquez. 


CHAPTER  III. 


AMSTERDAM. 

AND  now,  as  we  have  lingered  somewhat  on  the  way  — 
North  Holland  is  still  far  off — let  us  push  on  to  Arn- 
i  sterdam.  We  will  mercifully  spare  you  Rotterdam,  al- 
though there  is  a  very  good  gallery  —  in  fact,  the  gallery  itself 
is  about  the  only  decent  one  in  all  Holland,  the  little  gallery  at 
Haarlem  excepted.  The  Hague  and  Amsterdam  galleries  are 
each  a  mere  series  of  small  rooms  lighted  by  side  windows,  with 
reflections  of  opposite  buildings  on  sunny  days,  and  all  sorts  of 
havoc.  The  Rotterdam  gallery  principally  lacks  good  pictures; 
there  are  some  well  worth  seeing,  but  no  masterpieces,  as  at  the 
sister  cities  with  the  bad  galleries.  But  poor  Rotterdam  lost 
her  pictures  by  fire,  and  it  is  not  so  easy  to  get  fresh  master- 
pieces every  day.  The  river  Maas,  by  Rotterdam,  filled  with 
shipping  of  all  nations,  is  most  sketchable  to  a  marine  paint- 
er. The  movement  along  the  "  Boomjies  "  —  the  "  Rialto  " 
of  the  place,  "  where  merchants  most  do  congregate " — is  well 
worth  seeing. 

Amsterdam  itself,  as  a  town,  may  be  very  enterprising  and 
commercially  prosperous ;  it  is,  in  fact,  reeking  with  prosperity. 
Still,  as  a  dream  of  architectural  beauty,  it  is  surpassed  by  one 
or  two  other  and  smaller  places  in  the  country.  Perhaps  even  a 
very  intelligent  business-man  would  prefer  the  town-hall  of  Am- 
sterdam to  the  town-hall  of  Middelburg,  down  in  Zeeland,  but  no 
architect,  painter,  or  sculptor  would  do  so  for  a  moment.  And 


28 


Museums  and  Galleries. 


as  for  those  delightful  old  Dutch  mansions  of  two  or  three  hun- 
dred years  ago,  with  their  cunning  masonry  and  brick-work,  their 
elaborate  figures,  weathercocks,  and  flourishes,  wrought  by  iron- 
workers when  the  blacksmiths  and  the  masons  were  artists  proud 
of  their  guilds,  well,  you  will  find  these  things,  too,  in  the  smaller 
towns  in  greater  perfection.  Middelburg,  Veer,  Hoorn,  Delft, 
Dort,  Leyden,  Alkmaar,  Utrecht,  Nymegen,  Maestricht — these 
are  named  at  random ;  there  are  many  towns  even  richer  in  fine 
old  houses.    But  let  us  hope  to  come  to  them  in  due  course. 

The  real  pride  of  Amsterdam,  after  the  evidences  of  her 
prosperity  and  her  monuments  of  successful  engineering,  lies  in 
her  art  galleries  ;  perhaps  it  is  safer  to  say,  her  pictures,  her  pub- 
lic and  private  collections,  and  her  collections  of  antiquities  and 
objects  of  art  in  the  little  tentative  museum.  The  Hague  and 
Utrecht,  in  respect  of  museums,  are  her  only  rivals.  But,  sad  to 
relate,  the  Hague  collection  will,  as  soon  as  the  museum  now 
building  at  Amsterdam  is  finished,  be  merged  into  and  mingled 
with  the  big  sister's  treasures.  How  the  Hague  people  can  ever 
see  their  collection  taken  from  them  without  spilling  their  hearts' 
blood  is  more  than  I  can  understand.  The  present  little  muse- 
um of  Amsterdam  is  in  an  old  house — date  sixteenth  century,  it 
seemed  to  be.  Some  of  the  rooms  were  furnished  from  floor  to 
ceiling  with  genuine  examples  of  Dutch  furniture,  all  of  that 
same  period.  Other  rooms  were  of  the  half-century  earlier  and 
later,  each  complete  in  itself,  and  each  a  complete  picture.  Ev- 
erything was  arranged  in  its  proper  household  position— pictures 
on  hangings  of  Spanish  leather  or  on  backgrounds  of  Flemish 
tapestry;  brass  sconces,  and  ebony  or  tortoise-shell  framed  bev- 
elled glass  mirrors  in  between;  brass  candelabra  hanging  from 
the  oaken  rafters ;  all  the  chimney  furniture,  the  andirons,  tongs, 
shovels,  and  brushes,  in  place,  and  the  garniture  of  brass  and 
delf  on  mantel-shelves  as  it  should  be;  oaken  tables  with  carved 


NEW  MARKET,  AMSTERDAM. 


The  Able  Dutchmen  of  the  Past.  31 

legs  and  feet,  with  old  Persian  rugs  for  table-covers ;  old  vellum- 
bound  books  on  shelves  ;  oaken  cabinets,  with  great  tankards 
upon  them,  of  various  metals ;  great  drinking-horns,  on  gold  and 
silver  stands,  studded  often  with  precious  stones ;  mighty,  deep- 
potion-holding  goblets  as  well.  What  lusty  fellows  those  old 
Dutchmen  were,  who  tossed  them  off  with  toasts  to  their  many 
victories  by  sea  and  land !  A  modern  wine-glass  beside  one  of 
these  cups  would  seem  puny  and  pitiable,  only  fit  for  a  doll's 
house.  No  little  mincing  decanters,  either,  were  they  that  kept 
the  goblets  company,  but  deep,  wide -bodied  flagons,  such  as 
figure  in  Van  der  Heist's  pictures  of  civic  and  guild  banquets, 
where  the  pourer  of  the  wine  holds  the  flagon  to  the  top  of  his 
reach,  and  the  cup  low  down,  so  that 

"  The  bubbles  that  swim  at  the  beaker's  brim, 
And  break  at  the  lip  when  meeting," 

are  like  little  balloons.  Then  the  mighty  metal  dishes  and 
trenchers,  big  enough  to  hold  the  princely  swan  or  the  kingly 
peacock,  or  an  ostrich,  or  whatever  small  game  happened  to  be 
in  fashion  at  the  time.  The  powerful-limbed  stools  and  chairs 
on  which  they  sat  were  all  in  place.  We  were  the  only  anachro- 
nisms in  those  perfect  rooms  ;  and,  moreover,  I  don't  think  either 
of  us  was  proud  of  the  fact,  if  the  truth  must  out.  If  a  few  of 
the  old  swash-bucklers  of  the  time  could  walk  in,  clad  in  buff 
leather  and  steel  corselet,  with  waving  plume,  long,  fierce,  up- 
brushed  mustache,  keen  rapier  on  thigh,  or,  with  hand  on  hilt, 
bent  forward,  and  just  cocking  up  the  back  hem  of  broidered 
cloak,  great  buckety  boots  of  Cordovan  leather,  with  jingling 
spurs  of  inch-long  rowels  at  heel ;  or  even  a  few  gay  gallants  of 
the  time,  in  satin  or  velvet  jerkins,  brave  with  bows  of  tagged 
ribbon,  great  bows  of  the  same  tagged  ribbon  where  the  garters 
fastened,  cuffs  and  collars  or  ruffs  of  good  old  point,  buff  square- 


32  The  Burgomaster  Six. 

toed  shoes  with  heels  worth  mentioning,  long  hair  cut  square 
across  the  brow — what  would  they  think  of  us  as  the  improved 
product  of  two  centuries  ?  It  is  true  that  we  were  neither  of  us 
fascinating  examples  of  elegance,  prowling  about  their  rooms  in 
long  ulsters,  bulging  with  Baedeker  and  Murray;  still,  I  don't 
fancy  that  they  would  care  more  for  the  chimney-pot  hat,  the 
curate  collar,  and  the  well-shot-forward  wristband,  the  skin-tight 
cut-away  coat,  and  the  groom's  trousers.  However,  needless  to 
say  (much  to  our  regret,  as  we  would  have  been  charmed  to 
see  them),  the  aforesaid  shades  kept  discreetly  away. 

These  specially  arranged  and  well-kept  rooms  were  all  very 
well  and  lovely;  but  some  of  the  others  in  the  house  were  given 
up  to  what  Barnum  would  call  "  good  square  curiosities  " — none 
of  your  newfangled  art  matters  in  such  places  as  South  Kensing- 
ton, but  the  good  old  thing.  There  was  the  cast  of  the  hand 
and  foot  of  some  dead-and-gone  Dutch  giant;  the  pistol  with 
which  some  ordinary  murderer  slew  some  ordinary  victim,  long 
forgotten;  pickled  snakes  and  stuffed  monkeys,  moth-ravaged 
and  dusty;  and  South  Sea  war -clubs  enough  to  stock  an  ar- 
senal. I  think  that  this  museum  has  the  very  club  that  slew 
poor  Captain  Cook.  We  saw  this  club  in  many  Dutch  mu- 
seums, and  I  fancy  that  Amsterdam  has  it  as  well.  Fortunate- 
ly, these  peculiar  treasures  are  not  overwhelmingly  numerous, 
and  are  only  temporarily  retained  until  the  coming  of  the 
Hague  collection  and  the  completion  of  the  new  building. 

We  had  the  good  fortune  to  see  the  famous  collection  of 
pictures  at  the  house  of  the  Burgomaster  Six.  I  don't  know7  if 
the  present  Six  be  Burgomaster  or  not.  I  hope  so,  fervently.  It 
would  be  a  rank  shame  to  call  a  Six  anything  else ;  worse,  even, 
it  would  be  an  anachronism  !  I  wonder,  also,  if  the  present  Six 
resembles  his  glorious  ancestor  who  was  so  happily  inspired  to 
collect  Rembrandts?    It  is  something  to  have  a  house  where 


A  Great  Rembrandt. 


33 


the  family  portraits,  painted  by  the  great  Dutch  master,  are  still 
hanging — I  believe  in  the  self-same  places  where  Rembrandt 
hung  them.  And  such  a  portrait ! — that  of  the  Burgomaster. 
Never  was  anything  more  alive,  more  looking  at  you,  than  this ; 
not  gazing  on  you  with  that  fixed,  stony  stare  which  is  com- 
monly supposed  to  be  so  marvellous  if  it  "  seem  to  follow  you 
around  the  room."  The  eyes  of  any  staring  daub  will  do  that. 
These  eyes  seem  to  beam  on  you  so  kindly  and  calmly ;  and 
they  are  so  refined,  so  intelligent,  so  haunting,  in  fact,  that  they 
do  more  than  merely  "  follow  you  about  the  room."  They  fol- 
lowed us  home,  and  pleasantly  haunted  us  for  days.  How  we 
talked  of  that  one  picture  !  If  we  plodded  about  silently  after 
that,  thinking  instead  of  talking,  we  generally  found,  on  compar- 
ing notes,  that  we  had  been  thinking  of  that  one  picture.  True, 
it  was  only  a  man's  portrait ;  but,  after  all,  it  is  one  of  the 
worlds  wonders  in  the  way  of  art.  And  for  those  who  love 
simple,  direct,  unaffected  work,  and  w7ho  fancy  that  no  art  can 
endure  except  the  very  high,  and  that  a  complicated  muddle 
of  contorted  humanity  is  the  most  high,  this  will  ever  be  a  joy 
to  look  upon. 

Before  we  leave  the  Rembrandt-haunted  home  of  the  Sixes, 
let  us  own  that  there  is  a  charming  little  gallery  under  the  same 
roof,  and  that  there  are  some  gem-like  little  Dutch  works  there- 
in. But  we  walked  about  as  in  a  dream.  It  is  sad  to  own  to  it, 
but  I,  for  one,  forget  completely  all  of  the  perfectly  lovely  collec- 
tion but  that  one  picture.  I  do  remember  dimly  some  rare  blue- 
and-white  china,  choice  enough  to  make  a  collector  blue  with 
envy  and  crackled  with  covetousness.  It  was  to  ordinary  blue- 
and-white  as  clotted  cream  is  unto  sour  skimmed  milk.  Hap- 
pily, it  did  not  sink  very  deeply  into  my  desires,  or  affect  my 
subsequent  happiness.  The  portrait  was  my  preserver,  and  I 
knew  there  was  no  use  in  coveting  that. 

3 


34 


The  Dutch  Masters. 


There  are  other  private  galleries  in  Amsterdam,  and  we  did 
our  duty  to  them,  and  were  well  repaid,  but  we  were  careful  not 
to  rinse  our  palates  with  much  small  beer  after  the  wine  of  that 
portrait.    Who  was  it  said, 

"  Never  graceful,  wise,  or  sainted — 
That  is  how  the  Dutchmen  painted"? 

If  this  unkind  indictment  be  true,  it  goes  also  to  prove  that  they 
got  on  uncommonly  well  even  without  any  of  the  above  vital 
qualities.  I  frankly  own  that  I  can't  remember  any  very  grace- 
ful example  of  Dutch  sacred  or  profane  art,  saint  or  goddess.  I 
do  remind  me,  however,  of  a  certain  "  Susanna,"  fearfully  and 
wonderfully  made,  which  must  have  been  commissioned  by  some 
bygone  "society  for  the  discouragement  of  indiscreet  elders," 
and  was  doubtless  a  grievous  success  in  its  day  and  genera- 
tion. I  don't  remember  any  glaring  example  of  a  Dutch  "  Ve- 
nus," by  the  way,  except  little  snuffbox-lid  affairs  of  a  very  mild 
form.  The  Dutch  painters  only  took  to  the  nude  for  the  pur- 
pose of  moral  teaching.  Eve  (evidently  filled  with  large  apples), 
Potiphar's  wife,  and  Susanna,  St.  Anthony  and  his  undraped 
temptress  —  these  mostly  served  the  old  painters  when  they 
wished  to  adventure  into  the  regions  of  high  art,  and  soar  above 
common  things. 

And  "sainted"?  Perhaps  it  is  fair  to  admit  that  the  dear 
old  Dutchmen  did  try  the  more  elevated  paths  now  and  then. 
Did  they  not  do  their  best  to  plant  their  share  of  arrows  in  the 
long-suffering  St.  Sebastian  ?  The  Prodigal  Son,  I  admit,  gen- 
erally broke  down,  and  the  representations  of  the  Prodigal  rev- 
elling with  improper  companions  were  often  too  realistic  to  be 
fit  for  the  thin,  fine  air  of  the  upper  levels  of  high  art.  The  Vir- 
gin presenting  the  Infant  with  a  small  model  of  a  Dutch  wind- 
mill, and  Abraham  offering  up  Isaac  with  an  early  example  of  a 


Scheffers  Statue. 


35 


wheel-lock  pistol,  are  a  few  well-known  instances  of  how  they 
tried.  Perhaps  this  realistic  treatment  of  sacred  things  was  the 
better  way  of  presenting  the  subjects  to  the  people  of  their  day. 
And,  after  all,  they  were,  in  these  matters,  much  as  greater  paint- 
ers were.  Did  not  Paul  Veronese,  in  his  "  Marriage  at  Cana," 
depict  himself,  relatives,  and  friends  as  assisting  at  the  wedding 
feast  ? 

There  is  an  unmistakable  atmosphere  of  art  about  Amster- 
dam ;  of  Rembrandt,  especially,  you  might  say  that  he  is  per- 
vading the  air  still,  after  all  these  years.  It  would  be  no  easy 
matter  for  a  stranger  to  visit  Amsterdam  and  get  away  without 
being  made  aware  of  Rembrandt's  great  hold  upon  the  people. 
If  he  were  not  shown  his  pictures,  he  would,  no  doubt,  have  his 
house  pointed  out  to  him ;  and,  if  not  that,  then  the  square  or 
the  statue  would  be  his  fate.  I  could  not  help  thinking,  when  I 
saw  the  pretty  surroundings  of  the  Rembrandt  statue  in  Amster- 
dam, that  poor  Ary  Scheffers  statue  at  Dort  would  be  glad  to 
change  places  with  him.  The  extremely  sainted  Ary  seems 
sadly  out  of  his  element,  and  must  feel  low  and  commonplace, 
clad  in  badly  fitting  bronze  frock-coat  and  trousers,  standing 
bare-headed,  with  a  wretchedly  small  palette  on  his  thumb,  in 
the  middle  of  Dort  market-place,  surrounded  by  quacking  ducks 
and  geese,  and  plain,  not  to  say  coarse-speaking,  market-women. 
Rembrandt  would  rather  enjoy  smiling  down  on  the  fat  ducks. 
But  poor,  dear  SchefTer !  What  a  mercy  for  him  that  his  nerves 
are  of  enduring  bronze!  We  only  stayed  long  enough  in  Am- 
sterdam to  "  do  "  the  collections  at  the  rate  of  about  three  a  day, 
and  to  make  arrangements  for  cruising  about  the  Zuider  Zee, 
and  seeing  North  Holland  and  Friesland. 

There  is  not  much  to  see  in  the  way  of  costume  in  the  large 
Dutch  cities.  Any  part  of  London  or  Paris  would  show  as 
great  a  variety.    In  fact,  I  should  be  inclined  to  back  a  London 


3  6  The  A  an  Spraaker. 

"  Blue-coat  School  "  boy  against  anything  in  Holland,  as  not  only 
being  more  downright  picturesque,  but  also  more  historically 
correct  and  interesting  to  a  student  of  costume.  He  means 
something.  I  do  wish,  however,  that  the  Blue-coat  boy  himself 
could  only  know  how  well  the  real  cap  of  the  period  would  go 
with  the  rest  of  the  dress,  and  wear  it  bravely.  No,  he  would 
rather  go  bare-headed  all  his  days,  in  the  wildest  weather,  than 
stand  the  street  gamin  comparing  his  head-gear  to  a  "muffin." 
His  patron,  Edward  VI.,  wore  one  of  the  same  shape.  But  what 
would  the  London  street-boy  say  to  the  costume  of  the  half- 
orphan  schools  of  Amsterdam?  Some  sad  humorist  of  philan- 
thropic turn,  in  years  gone  by,  thought  it  a  neat  idea  to  make 
the  children  of  the  school  dress  forever  after  in  a  party-colored 
dress  of  black  and  red.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  saw  in  it  some 
fitting  reminder  of  their  half-orphaned  condition  if  they  were 
grotesquely  pied  up  and  down  with  these  two  striking  contrasts. 

The  "  Aan  Spraaker  "  is,  also,  to  the  innocent  stranger,  more 
of  an  object  of  amusement  than  his  grewsome  and  serious  office 
would  imply.  He  is  a  quick-moving  individual,  rushing  from 
house  to  house,  bearing  tidings  of  deaths  and  births.  He  is 
clad  in  black  cloth  citizen's  costume  of  the  last  century,  cocked 
hat,  white  streamer  behind,  flying  in  the  wind,  if  his  message  is 
of  birth  (some  subtle  sub-meaning  also  conveyed  of  sex  as  well, 
I  fancy),  a  black  streamer  if  of  death.  His  knee-breeches,  black 
stockings,  and  shoes  with  great  silver  buckles,  make  him  rather 
a  striking  figure  as  he  cuts  along  the  streets  on  his  momentous 
errands.  He  always  struck  me  as  having  left  something  impor- 
tant behind  him  at  home,  and  as  hurrying  back  for  it  with  all 
his  might.  As  a  picturesque  object,  or  as  an  expression  by 
means  of  outward  show  of  his  serious  mission,  he  struck  us  as 
being  somewhat  of  a  failure. 

Down  about  the  docks,  among  the  shipping,  the  Dutch  sailor 


The  Fisher -folk. 


39 


and  his  womenkind  sometimes,  if  from  the  Zuider  Zee  ports  or 
islands,  are  very  good  catches  for  one's  note-book.  You  even 
see  parties  of  them  leading  each  other,  generally  by  their  inter- 
locked little  fingers,  about  town,  looking  into  the  shop  windows 
of  the  Kalverstraat.  They  have  not  changed  much  in  appear- 
ance, these  sailor  and  fisher  folk,  during  the  last  two  hundred 
years.  There  are  old  Dutch  pictures  of  these  mariners,  dressed 
then  in  the  self-same  baggy  breeches,  furry  cap,  and  jerkin,  rich 
with  big  silver  buttons  on  the  vest  and  around  the  waistband. 
We  became  rather  impatient  to  get  to  the  little  islands  and 
far-off  ports,  where  we  could  see  them  at  home  and  more  at 
ease. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


OFF   TO  ZAANDAM. 

SOME  of  the  small  towns  quite  near  Amsterdam  are  well 
worth  visiting  —  Zaandam,  Broek,  Vollendam,  Muiden, 
Zaandfoort-on-the-Sea,  and  several  others — many  of  them 
within  the  radius  of  the  tramway.  One  could  easily  stay  in 
Amsterdam  for  a  full  week,  and  go  every  day  to  some  outly- 
ing town  or  village  worth  seeing,  especially  to  an  architect  or 
a  painter.  The  ordinary  sight-seer,  "  conducted  personally," 
may  spare  himself  much  weariness  and  disappointment,  and  pin 
his  faith  to  Zaandam  and  Broek,  and  even  there  I  doubt  if  he 
will  get  repayment  for  his  trouble.  To  be  really  repaid  by 
Holland  one  must  be  interested  specially  in  something  she  pos- 
sesses in  her  particular  way,  or  in  something  done  there  pecul- 
iarly well — dairies,  farming,  stock-raising,  windmill  management, 
hydraulic  engineering,  commercial  affairs,  distilling,  and  a  few 
other  things  of  a  realistic  and  substantial  character.  The  quite- 
empty  tourist  is  far  better  off  in  nearly  any  other  civilized  land, 
perhaps  even  better  at  home,  for  pure,  solid  enjoyment  and 
cheapness.  The  strangeness  would  annoy  him  more  than  it 
would  amuse  or  cheer,  and  the  Dutch  language  would  sadden 
for  the  rest  of  his  days  his  memories  of  an  otherwise  kindly  dis- 
posed people. 

While  discussing  various  ways  and  means  of  getting  around 
among  the  North  Holland  towns  and  the  islands  of  the  Zuider 
Zee,  we  suddenly  became  aware  of  the  existence  of  a  small 


A  Great  Project. 


4i 


ABOUT  MUIDEN. 


steam-launch,  a  bateau  mouche,  to  be  let  for  excursions,  and 
starting  from  our  very  hotel  grounds — or,  rather,  waters.  We 
hailed  it  with  delight.  The  wild  idea  of  chartering  the  con- 
cern straight  off,  there  and  then,  for  a  fortnight,  before  any  one 
else  should  get  the  start  of  us,  was  seriously  entertained  for  the 
first  half-hour  of  our  discovery.  Then  the  more  cautious  proj- 
ect of  taking  it  first  for  one  day,  on  trial,  interposed  wisely  and 
in  good  time.  We  therefore  engaged  the  mouche  to  be  ready 
for  us  bright  and  early  next  morning,  steam  up,  and  waiting  to 
start.  Breakfast  was  ordered  for  an  early  hour,  luncheon  to  be 
got  ready  and  put  on  board,  so  that  we  might  be  off  betimes. 
It  began  to  look  like  business  now,  and  as  we  strolled  up  and 
down  the  little  landing  -  place,  quietly  doing  our  cigars,  and 
taking  several  good  looks  at  our  young  steamer  before  we  re- 
tired, we  pleasantly  thought  of  the  morrow. 


42 


Dtibious  Preparations. 


Alas  !  the  morning  came,  and  with  it  a  cold,  steady  drizzle, 
with  just  a  wee  point  of  smudgy  sun  trying  to  peep  through 
now  and  again.  The  little  craft  was  moored  just  under  the  win- 
dows of  our  bedroom,  and  we  noted  the  first  stir  of  her  crew 
getting  her  ready  for  the  day.  Their  anxiety  to  be  off  and 
away,  however,  was  not  equal  to  ours,  evidently.  Not  a  soul  in 
sight  or  a  whiff  of  steam  visible.  And  how  hang-dog  and  dis- 
couraged she  looked,  too,  in  the  morning  drizzle  !  Down  to 
breakfast.  From  our  window  we  could  still  see  the  monche,  not 
getting  ready  in  the  least.  It  was  becoming  rather  depressing. 
"  Never  mind ;  cheer  up !"  We  were  assured,  however,  by  our 
polyglot  waiter  that  the  mouche  could  get  up  steam  in  ten  min- 
utes or  so — encouraged  by  a  little  petroleum,  I  fancied.  Finally 
the  long-looked-for  engineer  hove  in  sight,  with  a  small  fagot  of 
kindling  wood  under  his  arm  and  a  large  can  of  oil  in  his  hand, 


Off  at  Last. 


43 


taking  his  time,  naturally.  After  a  general  survey  of  sky,  wind, 
and  water,  and  an  evident  wrestle  with  some  internal  misgiving, 
he  set  to  work  to  get  up  steam.  He  never  exactly  "  went  be- 
low "  to  do  it — -that  is,  all  of  him  at  once  into  the  furnace-place 
— for  when  his  head  and  white  jacket  would  disappear  his  legs 
and  feet  could  be  seen  waving  aloft,  as  it  were  showing  that, 
whatever  might  be  the  peril,  he  was  still  there.  After  much 
scraping  and  scratching  of  matches  we  saw  a  curl  of  smoke 
from  the  funnel.  Soon  the  burly  form  of  the  pilot,  skipper,  or 
whatever  he  was  who  took  command,  came  upon  the  scene,  with 
his  dinner  in  a  bowl,  tied  over  with  a  handkerchief.  By  this 
time  the  engineer  had  got  himself  into  a  fine  state  of  grime  and 
grit  that  no  amount  of  rubbing  seemed  to  improve  except  in 
the  way  of  polish.  He  was  rapidly  getting  to  look  like  an  old 
bronze  with  a  most  valuable  "  patine  "  on  the  surface. 

The  drizzle  was  clearing,  and  the  sun  getting  more  evident, 
as  they  hoisted  a  small  British  flag,  and  off  we  went,  with  no 
end  of  shriek  of  steam,  splutter  of  screw,  and  stirring  up  of  mud 
generally.  We  wanted  the  "  Star-spangled  "  as  well,  but  they 
hadn't  it  at  the  moment,  so  the  rest  of  the  bunting  was  Dutch. 
There  were  many  faces  at  the  windows  of  the  hotel,  guests  and 
waiters :  the  latter  gentry  seemed  to  smile  a  little  more  openly 
and  radiantly  than  we  thought  the  occasion  warranted  at  the 
time.  Before  we  returned,  however,  that  evening,  we  began  to 
suspect  the  cause  of  their  smiles  as  we  left  in  the  morning. 
They  must  have  seen  that  crafty  little  tea-kettle  of  a  steamer 
go  merrily  off  at  morn  and  sadly  return  at  eve  on  some  few 
other  occasions.  We  got  on  very  well  indeed  through  the 
canals,  miles  of  them,  some  not  quite  so  much  like  main  sewers 
as  others,  till  finally  the  last  lock  was  passed,  and  we  were  out 
on  the  broad  swash  of  the  Y.  What  a  relief  !  And  yet  the  Y 
is  far  from  being  the  most  limpid  bit  of  water;  still,  it  was  the 


44 


Disc  07i  ragemen  t. 


open,  and  we  breathed  more  freely.  Now  where  ?  The  Zuider 
Zee  was  too  rough,  impossible.  The  skipper  waved  his  arm  up 
and  down,  expressive  of  heavy  billows,  and  executed  a  fearful 
pantomime  of  all  hands  being  deadly  sick  in  consequence  — 
far  too  realistic  in  its  rendering  to  be  pleasant.  "  Zaandam  ; 
Peter  the  Great's  workshop ;  miles  of  windmills !" — arms  vigor- 
ously rotated  to  express  the  lively  state  of  this  industry.  "  Zaan- 
dam be  it,  then !"  Off  we  spluttered  again  at  the  rate  of  three 
or  four  miles  an  hour  for  about  half  an  hour,  and  then  we 
slackened  speed.  Something  wrong  with  the  machinery.  The 
engineer  got  a  broorn  splint  and  probed  about  in  an  oil  recepta- 
cle. Broom  splint  broke  off  short  in  the  hole.  Stopped  alto- 
gether. Fire  raked  down.  Dismal  consultation.  Derision  of 
wretches  on  passing  boats,  who  offered  ironically  to  tow  us 
along.  The  peculiar  force  of  strange  chaff  somehow  lost  on 
us. 

Thank  goodness  !  Machinery  finally  tinkered  up,  and  off  we 
went  again.  Must  go  at  quarter  speed,  however,  or  will  not  be 
able  to  make  Zaandam  at  all.  Once  there  new  thing,  whatever 
it  was,  could  be  put  on  or  in.  In  the  meantime,  every  craft  that 
floated,  even  doddering  old  hay  barges  loaded  to  the  water,  went 
on  gayly  past  us.  We  were  given  to  understand  by  the  engineer 
that  there  was  no  danger  of  any  explosion.  With  the  fires  near- 
ly raked  out,  and  the  feeble  little  tea-kettle  of  a  boiler  only  sim- 
mering, the  possibility  of  an  explosion  never  occurred  to  our 
minds.  We  might  be  run  down  by  a  hay  barge,  or  cast  away 
on  a  bleak  strip  of  sand,  in  which  case  we  could  console  our- 
selves with  the  gorgeous  luncheon  from  the  hotel — some  two 
bottles  of  claret  each,  a  couple  of  pallid,  clammy  fowls,  and  a 
large  tin  vat  full  of  soul-chilling  salad — a  lovely  enough  lunch 
on  a  sweltering  day,  under  the  waving  trees ;  but  this  day  had 
gone  back  to  its  half-frozen  drizzle  by  this  time,  and  there  were 


We  Get  There. 


45 


no  trees  to  wave.  We  tried  the  luncheon,  however,  sadly,  and 
as  a  matter  of  form,  but  that  wretched  little  boiler  sent  unsavory 
whiffs  of  faint  greasy  steam  wafting  by  as  an  accompaniment  to 
every  nibble  of  food.  "  Are  we  getting  a  realizing  sense  of  the 
joys  of  this  day  ?  Are  we  saturating  ourselves  fully  with  its  too- 
fleeting  delights  ?"  These  were  questions  that  we  now  and 
again  propounded  to  each  other  as  the  sour  east  wind  shaved 
round  our  necks  freely  in  spite  of  turned-up  collars  and  thick 
ulsters.  It  was  a  time  to  tell  a  Christmas  story  each,  but  we 
never  thought  of  it. 

The  grimy  engineer  entertained  us  with  an  account  of  some 
American  ladies  who,  from  that  same  mouche,  took  photographs 
of  many  of  the  leading  windmills  that  line  the  banks  of  the 
main  watery  thoroughfare  of  Zaandam.  His  pantomimic  ren- 
dering of  the  various  processes  of  taking  these  views  was  a 
thing  to  see.  We  were  obliged  to  snub  him,  gently  but  firmly, 
however,  for  we  found  that  he  was  constantly  at  a  loss  for 
one  or  two  of  the  ten  words  of  English  that  he  knew,  and 
was  obliged  to  explain  by  dumb-show,  and  as  much  of  this  was 
prodded  into  one  by  means  of  his  grimy  forefinger  on  some 
part  of  his  hearer's  clothing,  it  got  to  be  the  "sort  of  button- 
holing that  left  too  lasting  a  memory. 

All  journeys  must  end,  however,  and  our  gentle  craft  finally 
panted  and  gurgled  its  way  up  to  the  town,  and  I  really  thought 
that  the  gasp  she  seemed  to  give  as  she  sidled  up  to  the  dock 
was  about  her  last — for  that  spell,  at  least.  We  were  very  low- 
down  in  the  water  as  we  ran  alongside,  so  that  our  first  impres- 
sions of  the  people  of  the  place  began  at  a  goodly  row  of  legs, 
sabots,  and  hems  of  trousers  and  skirts,  all  sorts  and  sizes,  most- 
ly large  and  lusty.  The  problem  of  how  to  scale  the  steep 
side  of  the  dock  was  soon  solved  by  a  large  brown  hand  being 
reached  kindly  down  and  grasped  in  both  of  ours.    First  one 


46 


Received  by  the  Natives. 


of  us  went  up,  and  then  the  other,  with  a  free  and  lightsome 
pull  that  gave  us  a  modest  opinion  of  our  specific  gravity. 

"  Will  you  go  see  shop  Peter  the  Great  ?" 

We  seemed  to  run  into  the  arms  of  a  Committee  of  Recep- 
tion. Of  course  we  would  go  ;  the  very  thing  we  came  for. 
Leaving  our  mouche  to  repair  herself,  we  started  off  with  our 
big-handed  friend  to  the  shrine  of  Zaandam. 

Down  little  devious  streets,  very  prim  and  well-kept,  mostly 
paved  with  little  red  bricks  set  on  edge  (clinkers),  over  little 
bridges  spanning  tiny  streams  or  "  runnels  " — though  the  water 
does  not  run  in  the  slightest  degree,  but  sleeps  peacefully  (ex- 
cept in  the  matter  of  peculiar  "  bouquet ")  beneath  its  mantle  of 


IN  ZAANDAM. 


Peter  s  Hut. 


47 


bright  green  duck-weed.  We  were  evidently  going  by  a  short- 
cut, as  our  guide  led  us  through  various  back  yards  and  kitchen- 
gardens  and  private  grounds  in  a  most  confident  and  reckless 
way.  We  somewhat  startled  the  occupants  of  the  damp  little 
summer-houses  as  our  long  pilot  swept  past  with  his  strange 
craft  rigged  out  in  fearsome  ulsters.  There  were  many  little 
pictures  of  a  domestic  nature  that  we  were  almost  tempted  to 
stay  and  admire,  but  the  suddenness  of  our  coming  seemed  to 
bring  into  each  happy  circle  a  certain  shade  of  restraint,  not  to 
say  dismay ;  we  therefore  passed  on  like  a  fleeting  vision  to  the 
imperial  shipwright's  hut. 

Here  let  us  warn  any  devoted  admirers  of  the  great  Peter 
not  to  waste  any  of  their  pent-up  emotion  on  the  structure  that 
first  greets  their  view.  The  original  hut  is  safely  encased  in  an 
outer  shell  or  husk  of  a  building,  in  order  to  preserve  it  from 
the  nibblings  of  Time's  too -eager  tooth,  and  the  even  more 
merciless  hacking  of  the  name-carving  and  scribbling  wretch  of 
every  clime  and  degree.  There  is  a  narrow  space  between  the 
outer  and  inner  hut  which  gives  room  enough  to  walk  around 
the  latter.  The  hut  windows  are  so  scratched  with  names  and 
inscriptions  that  there  is  no  looking  in  or  out.  What  a  vast 
proportion  of  Peter's  visitors  wore  diamond  rings  !  and  desper- 
ate late -comers  have  either  deeply  and  wildly  ploughed  their 
"  Snooks "  or  "  Smith "  over  and  through  the  more  modest 
surface  scratchings  of  the  original  inscribers  on  the  panes,  or 
else  they  have  revenged  themselves  on  the  windows  and  walls 
of  the  outer  husk.  The  first  hut  was  fast  tottering  to  its  fall 
through  age  and  infirmity,  years  ago,  when  some  of  Peter's 
pious  posterity,  suddenly  remembering  him,  came  on  a  pilgrim- 
age to  Zaandam,  and  saved  the  relic  from  further  destruction 
and  desecration  by  putting  up  the  preserving  outer  casing. 
The  poor  old  workshop,  even  crutched  up  and  patched  and 


48 


Peter  s  Interior. 


tableted  and  dusted  as  it  is,  is  about  the  most  infirm  and  dis- 
couraged-looking habitation,  even  for  a  relic,  that  one  could 
well  see.  It  seems  all  the  more  lop-sided  and  shaky  by  its 
contrast  with  the  bolt-uprightness  of  its  outer  shell;  but  inside 
and  out  all  is  spick  and  span,  neat  and  painfully  clean  ;  the 
wood-worm  and  the  mouse  are  banished,  and  mould  and  canker 
are  warned  off  the  premises.  The  inner  floors  are  very  up  and 
down,  and  the  walls  sadly  out  of  perpendicular.  The  fireplace 
is  in  the  best  condition  of  all ;  over  it  is  a  marble  tablet  setting 
forth  in  a  fine  flowing  Latin  inscription  the  virtues  of  Peter, 
"  the  pomp  and  circumstance  "  of  the  hut's  restoration,  and  the 
names  of  all  concerned  who  were  worth  mentioning. 

Some  old  furniture  "of  the  period"  —  chairs,  tables,  cup- 
boards, and  stools — were  in  place  about  the  rooms.  Whether 
any  of  these  identical  articles  were  there  in  the  time  of  Peter 
is  a  question  for  his  friends  and  admirers.  Faith  is  largely  re- 
quired. They  look  as  if  they  might  have  been,  and  that  should 
be  enough  to  rout  the  carper.  I  need  not  say  that  there  is  a 
small  sum  to  pay — a  sort  of  "  Peter's-pence,"  if  you  like — and 
that  you  may  invest  largely  in  photographs,  write  your  name  in 
a  book,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  as  if  you  had  been  over  a  palace. 
We  did  all  these  things,  as  there  is  no  use  in  being  unpleasant 
about  principles  on  an  occasion  of  this  kind.  We  left  the  hut 
of  Peter  sadly  and  silently,  each  waiting  for  the  other  to  offer 
something  in  the  way  of  interesting  reminiscences  of  Peter ; 
each  kept  modestly  silent,  fearing  the  superior  information  of 
the  other.  It  must  be  remembered  that  we  did  not  at  early 
dawn  entertain  the  slightest  notion  of  going  anywhere  near 
the  hut  of  Peter  on  this  particular  occasion.  We  would  have 
scorned  to  offer  the  information  in  our  Baedeker  and  Murray 
to  each  other — we  should  have  found  each  other  out  directly  ; 
besides,  it  is  a  very  long  story,  and  to  tell  it  properly  one  must 


A  Flourishing  Industry. 


49 


was  not  our  purpose  at  the  moment.  There- 
fore we  plodded  on  silently  and  sadly  for 

a  short  time  through  the  humid  byways  of  the  town.  Our 
guide  did  not  seem  as  if  he  cared  to  say  farewell  to  us 
either.  There  were  still  the  windmills  ;  there  was  still  the  rest 
of  the  town  to  see  ;  there  was  still  plenty  of  time.  Zaandam 
is  rather  an  important  place.  Many  ships  and  boats  are  built 
there,  many  windmills  thresh  the  air  with  their  white  arms,  and 

4 


5o 


Windmillers  and  Windmills. 


grind  every  sort  of  thing  that  can  be  ground,  and  when  they 
don't  do  that,  they  saw  wood  and  pump  water.  The  inhabitants 
are  fearfully  rich  ;  at  every  jaunty  villa  we  came  to,  our  guide 
stopped  to  impress  upon  us  some  notion  of  its  owner's  wealth. 
"All  these  rich  people  are  windmillers."  He  could  speak  tolera- 
ble English,  so  we  were  spared  the  wild  pantomime  which,  when 
expressive  of  four  hundred  windmills,  takes  some  considerable 
room  in  a  village  street.  We  were  ferried  over  the  watery 
avenue  which  seems  to  be  really  the  main  thoroughfare  of  the 
town.  There  were  the  mills,  sure  enough,  miles  of  them — some 
four,  I  think — on  each  side  of  the  way,  as  far  into  the  dim  dis- 
tance as  the  eye  could  reach.  It  looked  like  a  lesson  in  per- 
spective to  try  for  the  exact  vanishing-point. 

We  returned  to  our  steamer,  which  in  the  meantime  had 
tinkered  up  the  loose  screw,  and  the  jocular  engineer  portrayed 
with  some  vigor  the  rate  of  speed  we  should  be  driven  at  under 
the  new  order  of  things.  We  were  soon  spinning  away  right 
merrily  up  the  waterway  aforesaid. 

If  any  one  desires  to  see  Holland  from  its  windmilly  side,  let 
that  person  by  all  means  come  to  Zaandam,  and  be  surfeited  for- 
ever after.  The  whole  united  industry  seemed  to  be  thriving 
and  flourishing,  too ;  and  when  a  windmilly  town  does  flourish,  it 
is  (from  a  flourishy  point  of  view)  a  thing  to  remember.  It  seems 
to  lack  reposefulness,  if  one  cares  for  it,  but  for  one  of  an  active 
temperament  it  is  highly  stimulating.  It  is  not  the  place  for  a 
moony  or  absent-minded  person,  as  there  is  always  a  chance  of 
being  brained  by  the  merry  wind-sail,  unless  one  is  somewhat 
alert.  There  seems  to  be  an  unfathomable  variety  of  individual 
taste  in  the  matter  of  adorning  and  decorating  some  of  these 
mills.  They  were  nearly  all  as  bright  as  paint  or  wash  of  every 
known  hue  could  make  them.  None  of  the  aesthetic,  faded-leaf 
tones  here  either,  but  good,  riotous  roaring  reds,  greens,  and 


A  FAIR  DAUGHTER  OF  HOLLAND. 


The  Koekbacker. 


53 


blues,  that  seemed  to  sit  at  once  on  any  mild  talk  of  "  broken 
tints  "  or  "  melting  combinations."  Somehow,  they  seemed  to 
get  the  right  tone  under  that  delicious  gray -blue  haze  that 
hangs  so  often  over  the  landscape  in  Holland.  Many  mills 
had  their  little  flower  -  garden  running  down  to  the  river's 
edge,  and  the  little  summer-house  overhanging  the  water,  with 
its  inevitable  little  motto  expressive  of  the  owner's  sweet  con- 
tent, like  "  Lust  in  Rust,"  which  at  first  sight  looks  like  bad 
and  improper  English.  It  only  means  "  rustic  felicity."  Here 
sit  Van  Dunk  and  his  friends  in  the  shades  of  evening,  smoking 
their  pipes,  sipping  their  beverages,  and  listening  to  the  frogs. 

We  were  steaming  along  splendidly  now,  sending  up  a  fine 
wash  and  swash  along  the  banks,  dancing  the  hitherto  placid 
little  fishermen  about  in  their  punts,  and  sending  small  billows 
slopping  up  into  the  little  "  Lusty-Rusty"  summer-houses  over- 
hanging the  river.  I  somehow  fancy  that  the  same  fussy  little 
mouche  was  not  over-popular  along  the  Zaandam  waters.  There 
is  a  curious  and  special  quality  about  the  Dutch  language  that 
seems  to  fit  it  for  profane  and  deadly  invective :  it  was  really  a 
comfort  not  to  understand  much  of  it,  as  the  rasping  rattle  of  a 
Gatling-gun-like  fire  of  compliments  passed  between  our  demo- 
niacal engineer  and  the  bespattered  revellers  in  some  swamped 
summer-house.  Whatever  might  have  been  the  beverage  they 
were  taking,  it  was  evidently  not  contained  in  bottles  that  were 
handy  for  throwing,  like  a  ginger-beer  bottle,  for  instance,  or  I 
feel  sure  that  we  would  have  had  a  shower  of  them  as  well  as  of 
the  imprecations.  One  expletive  hurled  at  our  grimy  engineer 
that  seemed  to  almost  make  him  foam  at  the  mouth  was  that 
he  was  a  (something)  "  AW/£backer."  It  sounded  awful  enough 
when  they  leaned  heavily  on  the  first  syllable ;  but  on  subse- 
quent inquiry  I  found  that  they  had  only  called  him  a  sort  of 
pastry-cook.    It  was  a  wonder  he  did  not  explode,  boiler  and  all. 


54 


Back  to  Amsterdam. 


On,  on,  and  still  on — and  still  windmills — until  really  the  thing- 
began  to  pall,  as  did  the  partridges  on  the  French  king.  We 
almost  wished  ourselves  back  to  the  house  of  Peter.  The  re- 
turn trip  was  not  nearly  so  lively.  The  fearful  taunt  of  "  Koek- 
backer"  had  turned  the  gall  of  our  grimy  one;  he  seemed  to 
have  withered  under  the  sting.  He  rubbed  his  inflamed  eye 
with  an  oily  wad  of  unclean  cotton  waste,  and  seemed  to  medi- 
tate vengeance ;  and  I  think  that  the  speed  was  not  nearly  so 
rampant  as  on  the  up  journey.  It  was  getting  toward  evening 
as  we  passed  through  into  the  Y  again,  and  I  fear  me  that  the 
grimy  one  had  rather  overdone  the  hilarious  spin  up  the  water- 
way, for  soon  the  new  screw  appeared  to  regret  its  career  of 
usefulness,  and  to  give  signs  of  breaking  down  again.  The 
situation  was  not  one  of  sufficient  peril,  nor  were  the  delights 
of  it  of  such  a  nature,  as  to  make  it  worthy  of  record.  I  know 
that  we  more  than  once  regretted  that  we  did  not  try  the  train 
back  to  Amsterdam,  just  for  a  change.  It  had  turned  bitterly 
cold,  and  the  drizzle  had  set  in  again.  There  were  fine  effects 
in  the  sky  and  Y  of  a  wild,  bleak,  weird  nature ;  but  the  poor 
little  steamer,  gasping  painfully  along  with  us,  coughing  its  very 
heart  out  with  its  declining  powers,  was  too  much  an  alternate 
object  of  pity  and  execration  to  allow  us  to  give  a  mind  still 
vexed  with  lingering:  visions  of  the  intermixed  arms  of  manv  in- 

GO  j 

sane  windmills  to  the  contemplation  of  dreary  though  effective 
bits  of  scenery.  This,  with  a  wolfish  hunger,  was  not  enliven- 
ing in  the  least.  So  we  will  draw  a  veil  of  silence  over  the 
last  stretch  of  the  return  along  the  Y.  The  mouche  gave  her 
last  gasp  within  a  stone's-throw  of  her  dock,  and  the  final  sidle 
up  to  the  landing  was  a  very  inglorious  effort  of  poling,  shoving, 
splashing,  and  profanity.  If  we  had  felt  like  singing  just  then, 
it  would  have  been  selections  from  "  Never  again  with  you ;" 
but  we  did  not  feel  like  singing — except  exceeding  small. 


Subsequent  Reflections, 


55 


All  was  over  with  the  bright  vision  of  our  fortnights  trip  on 
our  little  launch  all  by  ourselves.  There  were  many  apologies 
and  regrets  offered  to  soothe  us  when  we  roundly  denounced 
the  behavior  of  the  steamer  to  her  owner.  She  had  never  done 
this  before.  Of  course.  However,  after  a  good  supper,  and  an- 
other look  at  the  little  humbug  through  the  curling  smoke  of  a 
pacifying  cigar,  it  was  not  a  bad  day,  all  told.  Mark  Tapley 
would  have  positively  enjoyed  it  all.  And  as  we  sat  by  the 
sunny  window  at  breakfast  next  morning,  looking  at  the  little 
mouche  having  her  screw  tinkered  up  again,  and  a  fresh  poster 
setting  forth  her  virtues  in  several  languages  being  affixed  near 
by,  we  had  no  very  bitter  word  for  her. 

Just  then  there  came  to  us  a  smiling  and  confidential  little 
man,  who  observed  that  if  he  had  only  been  with  us  the  day  be- 
fore, we  would  not  have  wasted  our  time  as  we  did.  As  we  had 
never  been  aware  of  his  presence  until  that  moment,  we  could 
not  well  have  invited  him  to  go  on  the  previous  day.  We  must 
have  looked  somewhat  puzzled,  so  he  informed  us  that  he  was  a 
guide,  and  knew  all  the  ways,  not  only  of  this  place,  but  of  the 
world  in  general.  He  was  an  abnormally  bright  and  alert  young 
man,  a  shade  too  knowing,  if  anything.  We  -listened  cautiously 
to  the  tempter.  We  were  getting  tired  of  pantomime  :  it  took 
too  much  time,  and  attracted  too  much  attention.  The  clever 
youth,  however,  was  not  free  to  go  with  us  himself,  but  he  could 
highly  recommend  a  friend, who  knew  the  country  "like  unto 
his  own  glove,"  etc.,  and  very  soon  after  the  friend  appeared 
upon  the  scene.  The  contrast  was  so  sudden  and  striking  be- 
tween the  two  men  that  we  felt  a  momentary  resentment  toward 
the  new-comer  at  once — a  stoutish  middle-aged  man,  a  Sancho 
Panza  and  Wouter  van  Twiller  combined,  and  suddenly  aroused 
to  action.  He  spoke  very  fairly  several  languages,  but,  best  of 
all,  he  had  been  all  over  Holland ;  the  islands  of  the  Zuider  Zee 


56  Jacob  is  Engaged. 

and  the  various  places  in  the  north  and  Friesland  were  familiar 
things  to  him.  He  grew  upon  us  rapidly.  There  was  some- 
thing about  him  that  not  only  looked  honest  and  capable,  but 
also  seemed  to  promise  that  time  would  not  hang  heavily  on  our 
hands  ;  and  he  created  the  suspicion  that  there  was  a  good 
fund  of  amusement  in  him.  The  bargain  was  soon  arranged, 
and  Jacob  was  to  enter  upon  his  duties  then  and  there.  He 
began  by  modestly  advising  a  little  plan  of  his  own  that  would 
take  in  all  the  leading  dockyards,  arsenals,  prisons,  lunatic  asy- 
lums, gin  distilleries,  dikes,  and  "  polders  "  in  the  Low  Coun- 
tries, not  to  mention  the  Zaandam  windmills  all  over  again. 
Jacob's  face  was  a  capital  study  of  dismay  as  we  ruthlessly 
swept  away  all  this  pretty  programme  of  his  by  telling  him 
that  we  wished  to  carefully  avoid  all  and  sundry  these  deeply 
interesting  objects. 

"  First  of  all,  Jacob,  we  want  to  go  to  the  island  of  Marken, 
in  the  Zuider  Zee.    Can  you  take  us  there  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  can  take  you  dere,  but,  good  Gott,  gentlemens, 
dere  is  nothing  at  all  dere — nothing  but  sand,  and  fisher  houses, 
and  fisher  people.  Dere  is  no  hotel,  no  shops,  no  place  to  get 
anything  to  eat,  no  doctor  even.  Dere  is  in  fact  only  the  mid- 
wife, what  you  call — " 

"That's  the  very  sort  of  thing  we  are  looking  for,  Jacob." 
We  did  not  mean  the  useful  lady  he  referred  to,  but  he  seemed 
to  take  us  literally,  judging  from  his  expression. 

"  Well,  gentlemens,  if  you  must  go  dere,  you  will  have  to  go 
in  one  of  the  fishing-boats  from  Monnickendam.  Dere  is  no 
other  way.  I  must  send  a  telegram  to  Monnickendam  at  once 
to  get  the  fishing-boat  ready.  I  must  get  you  a  carriage  to 
drive  to  the  dam,  and  wait  dere  until  we  return  from  Marken, 
and  then  drive  back  to  Amsterdam  in  time  for  the  table  d'hote.1' 

"  Bother  the  table  d'hote !" 


New  Plans. 


57 


This  was  another  sad  blow  to  Jacob,  whose  own  plans  and 
ours  he  evidently  arranged  on  the  basis  of  being  able  to  get 
home  always  in  time  for  that  stately  ceremony.  We  soon  scat- 
tered that  plan.    It  was  a  shock,  but  he  bore  up. 

"  When  do  you  wish  to  go  ?" 

"  At  once." 


CHAPTER  V. 


MARKEN  AND  MONNICKENDAM. 

IN  a  scant  quarter  of  an  hour  after  we  first  encountered 
Jacob  he  was  in  full  occupation,  telegraphing,  carriage- 
hiring,  getting  our  traps  ready,  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 
The  sketching-gear  was  a  sore  bepuzzlement  to  Jacob,  as  we 
rumbled  away  in  a  sort  of  mourning-coach  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
long-tailed,  curved-backed,  Roman-nosed,  jet-black  steeds,  all  com- 
plete, toward  the  ferry.  Our  newly  found  guide,  philosopher, 
and  friend  must  have  thought  it  odd  that  we  would  look  at  the 
brown-sailed,  broad-beamed  old  luggers  and  hay  barges  scudding 
by,  and  would  not  take  even  the  most  tepid  interest  in  the  new 
dry-dock  or  the  petroleum  storehouses,  or  listen  to  the  highly 
interesting  statistics  concerning  them.  He  soon  left  us  to  our 
chatter  about  "flying  shadows,"  "glints  of  sunlight,"  "play  of 
color,"  and  all  the  rest,  his  face  meanwhile  becoming  a  splendid 
study  of  sad  perplexity  as  he  tried  to  follow  the  strange  terms 
of  artistic  patois. 

The  Y  is  rather  broad,  and  the  ferrying  over  is  quite  a  nice 
little  voyage. 

We  were  to  drive  past  Broek,  a  well-known  show  place. 
The  Dutch  themselves  smile  very  broadly  at  the  curiously  exag- 
gerated notoriety  of  this  one  quaint,  clean  little  village  over  all 
others  in  the  country.  Years  ago,  it  seems,  some  great  author- 
ity happened  upon  Broek,  Perhaps  he  had  not  ventured  far 
afield  in  Holland,  and  was  much  struck  by  its  rather  obtrusive 


A  SKETCH  AT  MARKEN. 


The  Treasures  of  Broek. 


61 


show  of  tidiness,  and  he  at  once  proclaimed  that  it  was  the 
cleanest  place  in  the  world,  and  worth  going  miles  to  see.  He 
had  ventured  into  one  of  the  cottages,  and,  falling  in  love  with 
some  rare  bit  of  old  blue-and-white  china,  had  bought  it  for  the 
usual  "son^,"  which  fact  he  also  recounted.  Ever  since  his 
time  adventurous  followers  have  gone  to  Broek,  and  have  been 
astonished  at  its  elaborate  display  of  scrubbing  and  polish- 


es THE  WAY  TO  MONNICKENDAM— DISTANT  VIEW  OF  BROEK. 

ing.  They  have  likewise  bought  old  china,  although  the 
"song"  got  into  a  higher  key  as  time  went  on.  The  dear  old 
lady  has  been  obliged  to  restock  her  cottage  over  and  over 
again  with  her  dear  grandparents'  teapots  and  punchbowls. 
She  has  made  her  little  fortune,  and  every  day  blesses  her  dis- 
coverer. The  present  dear  old  lady  is  probably  not  the  original 
dear,  but  a  grandchild.    She  is  no  great  fraud,  however,  being 


62 


Lust  in  Rust. 


fearfully  and  wonderfully  neat,  and  the  china  is  scarcely  clearer 
than  one  may  now  and  then  find  it  in  London  or  New  York. 
The  mourning-coach  was  left  outside  the  village.  I  do  not 
know  what  would  have  happened  to  us  if  we  had  trundled  that 
impressive  but  dusty  old  rattletrap  over  the  immaculate  brick 
pavements  of  Broek.  The  few  people  about  who  looked  at  us 
at  all  looked  first  at  our  shoes  to  see  if  we  had  brought  any  con- 
tamination thereon.  The  place  seemed  gone  to  sleep,  but  not 
in  a  healthy  way.  It  had  indulged  in  a  most  thorough  scrub, 
and  then  taken  a  dose  of  some  strong  narcotic.  There  were 
few  signs  of  business  or  occupation.  The  inhabitants  are  most- 
ly retired  traders  from  the  neighboring  cities  who  have  come 
here  to  take  their  "  Lust  in  Rust."  There  are  several  billiard- 
rooms.    The  most  retired  of  merchants  must  do  something  to 

<_> 

kill  time  ere  it  finally  kills  them.  Broek  is  well  worth  stopping 
to  see,  if  one  happens  to  be  passing  by,  but  it  is  scarcely  wrorth 
going  on  purpose  to  see.  Many  and  many  a  Dutch  village  we 
saw  quite  as  spruce  and  clean.  However,  Broek  has  a  certain 
prestige,  and  if  the  traveller  should  return  without  seeing  it,  he 
will  be  safe  to  meet  with  scores  of  friends  wTho  will  tell  him  that 
he  missed  the  one  place  of  all  others  that  he  should  have  gone  to : 
"  that  clean  little  town  where  one  picks  up  bargains  in  china — 
Broek,  Brook,  Breck,  or  whatever  it's  called."  Perhaps,  after  all, 
the  traveller  had  better,  for  his  peace  of  mind,  go,  and  have  done 
with  it.  The  subject  of  luncheon  was  mooted  to  Jacob ;  he 
stared  as  the  warder  of  Windsor  Castle  might  if  one  should 
propose  refreshments  on  the  premises.  Outside  the  radius 
swept  by  the  untiring  mops  of  Broek  was  the  little  inn  at  which 
we  left  our  ebon  steeds.  To  this  we  went,  and  a  very  highly 
polished,  cosey,  sleepy  little  inn  it  was.  The  only  refreshment 
we  could  get,  however,  for  love  or  money,  was  bread  and  Dutch 
cheese.    The  bread  was  a  small  loaf,  in  size,  shape,  and  texture 


Holland  Skies.  63 

like  a  very  pappy  bun ;  this,  cut  in  half,  and  a  wafer  of  the 
cheese  put  in  as  in  a  sandwich,  was  our  refreshment.  Let  those 
who  carry  epicurean  notions  about  with  them  take  heed  when 
they  go  to  out-of-the-way  Broek.  The  Roman-nosed  chargers 
were  again  put  in  motion,  and  soon  rattled  us  over  the  rest  of 
the  way  toward  Monnickendam. 

We  were  much  impressed  that  day  by  the  lovely  quality  of 


A  BIT  OF  MARKEN. 


the  gray-blue  sapphire  sky,  the  exquisite  tenderness  of  its  soft 
azure  fields,  pasturing  innumerable  flocks  of  fleecy  cloudlets, 
and  stretching  far,  far  into  the  melting  distance,  distant  villages 
and  streams,  sails,  windmills,  and  the  yellow-gray  stretch  of  the 
Zuider  Zee  beyond,  all  blending  into  the  delicious  tints  of  the 
shimmering  blue-gray  horizon.  No  wonder  that  the  old  Dutch 
landscape-painters  gave  such  good  measure  of  sky  to  their  pict- 
ures :  the  thin,  narrow  strip  of  ground  showing  distance,  middle 
distance,  foreground,  and  all  being  often  not  more  than  a  fourth 


64 


Mon  11  ickenda  m . 


of  the  composition,  and  even  less  sometimes,  but  the  skill  and 
love  given  to  the  blue  vault  above  more  than  recompensed  the 
absence  of  the  earth  beneath  it.  Jacob  must  have  thought  us 
demented,  both  of  us,  with  our  noses  lifted  heavenward,  raving 
about  the  sky.  It  was  high  time  to  get  us  back  to  earth,  and 
prove  that  he  was  a  guide  willing  and  even  determined  to  earn 
his  title.  "  Gentlemens !  pardon  me,  but  I  don't  think  it  right 
to  let  you  go  past  dose  ting  we  just  coming  to.  Now  you  see 
dose  ruin?"  "The  heap  of  bricks? — well?"  "Well,  dose  ruin 
was  a  Roman  Catholic  Church.  She  was  burn  down  some  two 
year  ago."  "  Well  ?"  "  Well,  dey  don't  tink  she  pild  him  up 
again  ;  she  don't  got  enough  money — de  congregation."  "  Well, 
go  on ;  was  anybody  killed  ?"  "  Oh,  no ;  nobody  was  hurt. 
And  now,  gentlemens,  I  will  schouw  you  where  dey  store  de 
petroleum."  And  he  did.  We  didn't  like  to  wound  his  feel- 
ings by  a  languid  interest  in  these  things  that  he  had  set  his 
heart  on  revealing  to  us ;  but  this  kind  of  practical  information 
would  have  to  be  mildly  discouraged  before  long.  We  were 
passing  the  New  Doelan  Inn,  and  Jacob  explained  that  Doelan 
meant  a  target,  and  that  the  target  was  the  device  of  the  vari- 
ous companies  of  archers  in  olden  time.  That  was  very  pretty, 
We  knew  it  all  before,  but  still  it  was  well  to  encourage  Jacob 
in  any  information  that  led  him  into  the  paths  of  the  pictur- 
esque. Besides,  we  soon  discovered  that  his  statistics  were 
very  loose,  his  dates  conflicting,  and  his  matters  of  history 
foggy.  Dear  old  boy  !  "  honest  as  the  skin  between  his  brows," 
faithful  and  useful  to  the  last  degree.  At  the  same  time,  al- 
though one  would  never  think  of  putting  down  all  his  store 
of  knowledge  as  gospel,  it  was  amazing  to  note  the  number  of 
useful  things  he  did  know.  The  long  spire  of  Monnickendam 
was  just  in  sight  when  an  outward-bound  traveller  from  the 
place,  accosting  Jacob,  informed  him  that  our  boat  was  all  ready 


On  the  Zuider  Zee.  65 

and  waiting  for  us.  "  Now  just  see  how  every  little  thing  gets 
known  at  once  in  that  sleepy  old  town  !  The  telegrams  did 
it.  Every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  place  has  heard  by 
this  time  that  the  boat  is  chartered  to  take  some  strangers  to 
Marken." 

Monnickendam,  as  we  rattled  over  its  grassy  pavements, 
seemed  worthy  of  a  far  more  extended  notice,  from  the  sketch- 
er's  point  of  view,  than  we  could  then  give  to  it.  Rapidly  as 
we  drove  through  the  town  down  to  its  shrunken  and  pathetic 
little  harbor,  we  saw  enough  to  make  us  wish  to  come  again. 
There  was  a  grand  old  brick  church,  big  enough  to  hold  every 
creature  in  the  town  four  times  told.  It  has  its  history,  too, 
well  worth  the  telling,  perhaps  not  by  the  present  writer,  as  he 
has  only  just  read  a  few  thrilling  fragments,  and  has  scarcely 
had  time  to  assimilate  them  properly ;  besides,  our  boat  is  wait- 
ing for  us.  The  unemployed  part  of  the  inhabitants  (about 
half  the  entire  population)  were  there  to  see  us  embark.  There 
was  only  a  very  tepid  interest  in  us,  after  all,  and  nothing  what- 
ever that  might  be  called  enthusiasm.  The  sketching  par- 
aphernalia disconcerted  them,  evidently.  The  charm  of  its  un- 
expectedness did  not  entirely  appeal  to  them-.  The  vessel  was 
bright  and  gay ;  its  brass-mounted  rudder  shone  again ;  but 
she  looked  so  solid — in  fact,  so  stolid — that  it  seemed  as  if  it 
might  take  a  lot  of  persuasion  and  fair  wind  to  move  her.  It 
was  a  study  to  see  her  Dutch  crew  manage  her.  She  just 
seemed  to  meander  out  of  the  harbor  as  if  she  were  going  for 
a  morning  walk ;  no  straining,  or  pushing,  or  profanity  on  any 
one's  part.  In  six  minutes  after  we  touched  the  deck  we  were 
out  on  the  gray-billowed  Zuider  Zee.  It  beat  our  wheezing 
little  steam-launch  out  and  away  for  good  sense.  It  would  be 
an  hour's  run,  perhaps  two,  according  to  the  wind,  to  Marken ; 
but  little  did  we  care.    Stretched  out  on  the  polished  deck,  we 

5 


66 


The  Yacht. 


sketched  the  receding  line  of  land,  and  then  the  coming  out- 
line of  distant  Marken.  We  sketched  the  captain  and  mate, 
to  their  deep  amusement,  and  the  minutes  flew  by  all  too  fast. 
We  turned  an  almost  rudely  deaf  ear  to  Jacob's  information 
about  the  scheme  for  draining  the  Zuider  Zee  some  time.  We 
merely  said  that  we  hoped  it  might  be  too  big  a  job  for  them, 
and  refuse  to  stay  outside.  Fancy  it! — one  big  dish  of  a 
drained-out  polder,  and  quaint  Marken  and  Urk  no  longer 
islands,  but  inland  villages!  The  painters  of  the  future  may 
well  mourn  if  they  do  it.  To  think  that  we  were  sailing  free, 
in  a  good-sized  vessel,  over  what  one  day  would  be  fields  of 
waving  grain  or  pasture  for  flocks  and  herds !  To  tell  the 
strict  truth,  however,  I  don't  think  that  this  or  anything  like 
it  was  thought  at  the  time:  it  must  have  been  thought  out 
since :  the  pencils  were  far  too  busy.  What  a  difference,  too, 
between  our  bronzed  fishermen  of  to-day,  with  their  baggy 
breeches  splashed  with  silver  buttons,  some  of  them  as  big  as 
small  saucers,  and  our  grimy,  oily  engineer  of  the  day  be- 
fore ! 

The  vessel  was  a  very  A  i  of  its  kind,  as  spruce  and  polished 
as  a  show  man-of-war.  Any  lady  of  the  land  might  have  gone 
down  into  her  spotless  little  cabin  (a  medium-sized  lady),  and 
felt  herself  at  home ;  that  is,  if  she  did  not  stand  up  too  sud- 
denly, and  bring  her  fashionably  bedight  head-gear  in  contact 
with  the  under  side  of  the  deck.  "  This  is  not  a  regular  fishing- 
smack,  Jacob?"  Jacob  inquired  of  the  bronzed  young  captain, 
who  told  him,  with  no  small  degree  of  pride,  that  at  the  present 
moment  it  was  not  his  calling  to  fish,  and  that  the  vessel  was 
what  was  called  in  England  a  yacht.  We  did  not  even  offer  to 
smile,  although  we  thought  of  the  author  of  "  White  Wings," 
and  of  the  other  happy  author  of  "  Pinafore,"  and  wondered  if 
he  would  call  her  a  sister  of  his  Chloris.    Wre  mildly  suggested 


A  Bouffe  Community. 


67 


"  Tjalk  "  to  the  skipper,  but  he  stuck  to  Yacht.  Well,  which- 
ever  it  was,  she  danced  merrily  over  the  waves.  She  did  not 
plough  through,  but  slid  over  the  surface  like  a  light-hearted 
duck.  Marken,  from  the  sea,  was  like  a  short  bit  of  the  dotted 
line  of  sand  and  the  ribbon  of  green  verdure  that  stand  for  a 
"distant  view"  of  nearly  any  part  of  Holland.  We  soon  came 
to  the  narrow  entrance  of  the  snug  little  haven,  and,  dropping 
sail  as  we  glided  through,  went  bounding  up  to  the  dock  with- 
out an  ounce  of  impetus  to  spare. 

"  Why  did  you,  O  Jacob,  try  to  set  us  against  coming  here, 
by  tales  of  hard  lines  in  fishing-smacks,  and  all  the  rest  of  it  ?" 

"  Well,  gentlemens,  if  you  like  it,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say." 

"  Like  it !  Why,  this  is  the  sort  of  thing  we  want  every  day." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  funny-looking  people  and  funny  houses, 
you  will  see  them  here,  and  no  mistake  ;"  and  he  led  the  way  to 
the  village. 

Prepared  as  we  were  for  a  few  surprises,  I  must  own  that  we 
were  taken  somewhat  aback  by  the  startling  combinations  of 
form  and  color  met  with  at  every  step  in  this  queer  little  island. 
It  was  an  understood  thing  that  we  were  not  to  look  astonished 
or  surprised,  and,  above  all  things,  not  amused,  by  anything  we 
might  see.  Fancy  trying  to  preserve  an  expression  of  mere 
respectful  interest,  surrounded  by  the  full  company  of  some 
mad  comic  opera  (costumes,  scenery,  and  all),  disporting  them- 
selves in  broad  daylight !  Artistic  human  nature  will  stand 
much,  but  one  would  have  to  be  very  mouldy  with  the  most  woe- 
begone principles  of  a  false  kind  of  "  High  Art"  to  keep  down 
one's  feelings  in  a  moment  like  this.  The  people  themselves — 
mostly  women  and  children,  the  men  being  away  fishing — 
struck  us  as  being  very  fine  creatures.  There  was  a  sturdy, 
independent,  and  rather  a  defiant  air — not  in  any  way  aggres- 
sive, however — about  them.    They  have  a  steady  way  of  return- 


68 


Sketching  Nice  Girls. 


ing  your  gaze  with  a  strong,  blue-eyed  stare  that  makes  it  rather 
embarrassing  to  stop  and  pull  out  a  sketch-book  and  begin  with- 
out a  word  of  compliment  or  explanation. 

Luckily  we  were  quite  understood,  and  even  encouraged, 
when  the  sketch-books  were  brought  out.  Artists  had  often 
been  there  before.  In  fact,  few  but  artists  ever  do  go.  They 
must  fancy  the  outside  world  to  be  for  the  most  part  composed 
of  artists,  and  they  must  have  found  them  tolerably  harmless, 
well-intentioned  folk,  so  long  as  their  pencils  ran  on  as  they 
wished.  Besides,  Jacob  soon  explained  our  peaceful  mission, 
and  also  that  we  were  natives  of  Brazil.  He  afterwards  ex- 
plained to  us  that  for  some  reason  or  other  the  Brazilians  are 
rather  popular  with  the  islanders.  They  don't  care  for  English, 
they  hate  the  French  and  the  Germans,  and  they  would  gladly 
scald  a  Spaniard.   They  have  not  yet  had  time  to  forget  the  past. 

It  is  never  a  good  plan  in  sketching  these  people  to  ask 
them  to  pose  for  you  :  restraint  and  awkwardness  are  the  fre- 
quent results.  Begin  sketching  "  at  large,"  anything  for  a  bit  of 
background.  They  very  soon  meander  into  your  line  of  vision, 
especially  the  nice-looking  ones,  and  manage  to  keep  tolerably 
quiet,  too,  in  their  own  way.  If  they  do  not,  a  kindly  hint  will 
bring  it  about.  We  began  a  slight  sketch  of  the  well,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  number  of  girls  who  all  at  once  required  water 
was  astonishing.  As  soon  as  we  saw  any  very  good  ones,  Jacob 
artfully  engaged  them  in  conversation,  and  they  were  in  no  way 
loath  to  converse,  these  Rebekahs.  One  superb  creature  in 
full  costume,  complete  to  immense  silver  shoe-buckles,  had  a 
long  confabulation  with  Jacob,  scarcely  moving  the  while.  They 
were  evidently  in  no  hurry  at  home  for  that  water. 

"  It  is  quite  a  fact,  gentlemens — just  as  I  told  you." 

"  What  is  the  fact,  Jacob  ?" 

"  She  says  there  is  no  doctor  here — only  the  midwife." 


A  DRAWER  OF  WATER. 


Children  of  Marken. 


7i 


"  Tell  her  that  will  do ;  and  if  her  name  happens  to  be 
Gamp,  we  will  do  her  portrait." 

The  dread  contingency  of  being  suddenly  taken  ill  on  this 
remote  island,  and  given  over  to  the  "  Gamp,"  seemed  to  damp 
the  spirits  of  our  guide. 

"  Cheer  up,  Jacob.     This  is  far  better  fun  for  you  than 


A  FREEHOLDER  OF  MARKEN. 


showing  petroleum-stores  and  gin-mills  to  stray  tourists.  You 
are  deeply  enjoying  yourself  now,  flirting  with  these  girls." 

Jacob  allowed  a  passing  film  of  an  oily  smile  to  spread  over 
his  Sancho-Panza-like  countenance,  and  owned  to  his  enjoy- 
ment ;  he  even  seemed  to  forget  the  famous  table  dliote  he 
was  bent  on  getting  us  back  in  time  for. 

The  children  were  simply  perfect,  dressed  something  like 


72 


Mar  ken  Fashions. 


their  elders  in  miniature,  but  with  rather  a  confusion  of  ideas 
with  regard  to  distinction  of  sex.  There  would  be  a  small  mite 
with  long,  fair  hair,  worn  well  over  its  eyes,  and  a  frock ;  that 
would  be  a  boy ;  there  would  be  another  mite  with  fair  hair  and 
baggy  breeches ;  that  would  be  a  girl ;  then  at  a  certain  age 
they  got  changed  back  again  ;  but  all  and  sundry  spotless  and 
clean  and  well-behaved.  We  began  sketching  a  baby,  a  very 
bundle  of  quaintness  and  rosy  health.  The  little  maid  who 
tended  it  obligingly  kept  it  quiet  and  well  to  the  fore ;  and  even 
when  that  particular  sketch  was  finished,  and  a  note  was  being 
made  of  a  bit  of  fence  and  distance,  the  same  little  mite  was 
brought  and  obligingly  planted  on  the  top  rail,  well  in  view,  and 
kept  as  quiet  as  a  lamb.  We  somehow  made  friends  with  the 
children  from  the  very  first.  By  that  peculiar  instinct  with 
which  kind  mother  Nature  all  the  world  over  protects  them  in 
their  weakness,  they  have  a  keen  eye  for  those  who  love  them. 
There  is  no  humbugging  them  in  odd  moments,  when  it  is  to 
your  interest  to  smile  on  them.    They  find  you  out. 

Here  in  this  remote  islet,  where  a  knowledge  of  baby  Dutch 
idiom  could  not  be  expected  of  a  perfect  stranger,  with  no  means 
of  making  friends  with  them  except  by  tickling  them  under  the 
ear  or  chin  somewhere,  we  seemed  to  get  on  capitally.  The 
mercenary  idea  was  not  part  of  their  plan,  either,  for,  although 
we  had  a  pocket  full  of  the  trouser-button  Dutch  coinage,  they 
only  took  it  as  a  great  favor,  so  as  not  to  hurt  one's  feelings. 
There  was  that  same  free  and  independent  air  about  even  the 
smallest  child  that  is  characteristic  of  these  islanders.  The  cos- 
tume of  the  people,  varied  as  it  is,  is  kept  strictly  wTithin  cer- 
tain laws.  The  baby,  the  child  of  five  or  six,  the  young  girl  of 
marriageable  age,  the  betrothed,  the  wife,  the  widow,  each  and 
all  wear,  at  the  proper  time,  a  certain  distinguishing  costume. 
These  distinctions  have  been  observed,  and  the  costumes  have 


SMALL  CITIZENS. 


Unconventional  Freedom. 


75 


been  the  same,  for  centuries.  I  have  an  old  Dutch  book  (1737) 
with  the  identical  dress,  and  it  is  there  spoken  of  as  a  very  old 
costume.  In  that  print  there  is  the  same  fair  hair,  cut  in  a 
fringe  straight  across  the  brow,  and  level  with  the  eyes.  Some 
even  seemed  to  look  through  the  fringe  with  the  bright,  sharp 
twinkle  of  a  beady-eyed  Skye  terrier.  Others  had  the  fringe 
brought  level  with  the  eyes,  and  then  brushed  up;  this  had  a 
rather  aggressive  air,  belonging,  probably,  to  the  caste  of  eli- 
gible young  maidens.  Let  those  who  fancy  that  the  fringe,  or 
bang,  as  it  is  called  in  America,  is  a  new  fashion,  go  to  Marken, 
and  see  it  in  its  glory.  In  addition  to  the  invariable  fringe 
were  the  two  invariable  ringlets,  one  on  each  cheek,  that  were 
worn  by  all  womankind  from  maid  to  matron ;  these  were  no 
small,  mincing,  bandolined  "  corkscrews,"  but  goodly  sized,  loose- 
ly twisted  tresses  of  gleaming  hair. 

A  good  straight  throat,  with  splendid  curves,  a  wide,  close- 
fitting  necklace  of  coral  beads,  with  great  gold  clasp  of  archaic 
design,  were  almost  universal  features  among  the  young  women. 
The  prevailing  color  in  female  dresses  was  of  various  shades  of 
blue,  from  peacock  to  indigo  and  purple,  and  of  red,  from  terra 
cotta  to  dark  madder.  These  prevailing  tints,  all  good,  with  a 
certain  russet  and  olive,  and  a  sad,  discouraged  green,  made  up 
the  scale,  with  creamy  whites  and  bits  of  black,  not  to  mention 
lots  of  silver  and  gold  ornaments  and  bits  of  embroidery.  The 
eye-searing  "Magenta"  and  the  "arsenic"  green,  the  sulphure- 
ous yellow,  and  the  aniline  abominations,  they  know  not  of,  or, 
knowing  of,  care  not  for.  Heaven  forefend  they  ever  may! 
Happy  islanders !  Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy — slow  per- 
haps ;  but  they  have  certain  advantages,  after  all. 

When  the  great  epidemic  of  what  is  now  called  "evening 
dress "  attacked  every  civilized  male  creature  (and  some  who 
were  not  civilized)  on  the  habitable  globe,  from  the  greatest 


76 


Cemetery  Matters. 


personage  in  the  land  to  the  humble  green-grocer  in  guise  of 
waiter,  from  the  pompous  butler  to  one's  own  father  or  father- 
in-law — generally  confused  with  the  butler,  and  ordered  about 
sharply  by  careless  guests — when  this  great  weltering  wave  of 
costume  rolled  over  us,  the  happy  Markener,  and  a  few  other 
grown  men  on  the  outer  fringe  of  civilization,  escaped.  What 
would  happen  if  some  leading  spirit  of  the  island  should  attend 
a  few  "  At  Homes  "  in  Amsterdam,  say? — would  his  devotion  to 
baggy  breeches  and  constellations  of  silver  buttons  give  way  to 
the  tight  trousers  and  steel-pen-tailed  coat  ?  Let  no  one  ever 
invite  him  out ;  he  is  far  better  as  he  is.  Marken  is  not  a  very 
large  place,  all  told — a  few  low  sand-mounds,  the  exact  number 
varying  with  the  tide ;  about  three  miles  would  take  one  entirely 
round  the  outside  lines  of  the  group.  Each  mound  is  connected, 
somehow,  with  the  other — by  little  swing-bridges  chiefly.  Nearly 
every  house  has  its  separate  embankment  and  its  own  little  moat, 
and  its  own  boat — in  case  of  flood — moored  handy  by  the  door. 
The  houses  are  all  of  wood,  except  the  parson's  and  the  church; 
these  edifices  are  of  brick,  not  very  ancient,  as  the  entire  place 
has  been  flooded  and  burned  and  pillaged,  in  the  good  old  times, 
more  than  its  share. 

The  principal  mound,  on  which  the  church  and  school  stand, 
is  the  most  important ;  the  most  aristocratic,  so  to  speak.  An- 
other mound  contains  another  "  circle  "  around  the  lighthouse ; 
another,  the  dock ;  and,  another,  the  cemetery.  This  is  the 
highest  of  the  embankments,  or  they  would  not  be  able  to  dig 
a  grave  without  getting  below  water-mark :  as  it  is,  the  high 
tide  must  somewhat  dampen  the  poor  departed.  Each  of  these 
important  points  has  its  little  "  set."  There  was,  even  among 
those  happy  islanders,  a  slight  feud  respecting  the  relative  im- 
portance of  their  respective  positions.  They  were  all  obliged, 
however,  to  be  very  civil  to  the  cemetery  elevation,  or  it  was  made 


Native  Cultivation.  77 

unpleasant  for  them  on  the  occasion  of  a  burial.  Jacob  inquired 
very  kindly  after  this  feud,  and  we  found  that  it  was  going  on 
a  little  livelier  than  ever,  if  anything,  since  the  choosing  of  the 
new  burgomaster.  We  missed  some  of  the  humor  of  the  situ- 
ation, which  must  have  had  much  in  common  with  the  reign  of 
"Peter  the  Headstrong"  in  New  Amsterdam.  Jacob  was  far 
too  statistical,  and  went  into  dull  figures,  with  which  I  will  not 
trouble  the  reader.  We  saw  a  few  of  the  interiors,  and  clean  to 
a  degree  they  were,  spotless  and  polished  fully  up  to  the  Broek 
standard ;  with  lots  of  blue-and-white  china  and  old  Delft-ware 
on  dressers  and  decorating  the  walls.  The  lovers  of  bric-a-brac 
would  feel  themselves  at  home  in  this  remote  haven. 

The  old  brass-hinged  chests,  the  carved  cabinets  and  buffets, 
the  old  tall  clocks,  the  hanging,  brass-faced  clocks,  not  to  men- 
tion one  or  two,  not  old  nor  brass,  that,  I'll  be  sworn,  came  from 
Connecticut ! — the  only  one  thin,  fatal  edge  of  anachronism  we 
saw,  and  to  think  —  so  near  home!  There  was  no  mistaking 
that  rectangular  sacrilege  of  Time,  with  its  lithographic  view 
of  Pittsfield  court-house  on  the  pane.  Perhaps  it  kept  very 
good  time ;  they  do,  now  and  then ;  and  the  Down-east  clock 
peddler,  did  he  adventure  there,  too  ?  The  thought  is  too  in- 
teresting. There  were  brass  warming-pans  brandished  all  about 
the  walls  in  the  most  reckless  and  artistic  manner,  great  pewter 
and — for  aught  I  would  swear — silver  mugs  and  tankards  dis- 
posed about,  brazen  candlesticks  and  lanterns  polished  like  gold, 
curtains  and  hangings  of  spotless  white,  or,  most  often,  white- 
and-blue,  chintz,  blue  and  white  tiles  in  chimney-places,  and  red- 
tiled  floors.  What  more  would  one  have  to  sing  harmonies  of 
color  to  the  eye  ?  When  the  ever-rising  wave  of  aesthetic  cult- 
ure reaches  Marken,  there  will  be  but  little  to  teach  these  sim- 
ple island  fisher-folk.  Indeed,  there  were  sunflowers  galore  al- 
ready growing  in  many  little  gardens.    One  missed  the  peacock 


78 


Substantial  Draperies. 


plumes,  certainly,  and  the  soft,  clinging  draperies ;  in  fact,  the 
garments  of  the  women  were  the  reverse  of  "  clinging."  It  was 
the  one  great,  consuming  ambition  of  every  woman  to  wear  as 
many  petticoats  as  she  could  comfortably  carry  about ;  it  was 
the  one  great  sign  of  opulence — no  illusory  hoop  or  crinoline, 
but  six  or  seven  good,  substantial,  swelling  underskirts. 

Lest  some  painfully  pure  and  cultured  person  should  suppose 
that  one  sees  nothing  higher  and  nobler  to  enjoy  than  these 
simple  things,  we  will  hasten  to  explain  that,  in  our  sadder  and 
wiser  moments,  we  much  prefer  the  Elgin  Marbles  or  the  Venus 
of  Milo ;  and  that,  when  we  find  our  memory  dwelling  rather 
too  fondly  on  scenes  like  these,  we  bring  out  a  little  antique 
bronze  of  Diana  (picked  up  on  a  bric-a-brac  forage),  we  gaze  on 
that,  refresh  our  eyes,  and  ask  to  be  forgiven.  Let  us  also  own 
that,  in  moments  of  depression  and  slightly  impaired  health,  we 
turn  to  Botticelli  and  Fra  Angelico,  and  almost  forget  that  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  a  rosy  fisher-girl  or  a  bronzed  mariner  worthy 
of  serious  attention.  The  men-folks  of  Marken  are  seldom  at 
home  except  on  Sundays.  We  only  saw  a  few,  and  thoroughly 
fine,  stalwart  fellows  they  were — bronzed,  blue-eyed,  defiant-look- 
ing, still,  kindly  enough,  withal.  They  seemed  to  keep  a  tolera- 
bly watchful  eye,  however,  on  the  two  strange  beings  straying 
among  their  women  and  children  with  sketch-book  and  pencil. 

These  men  are  said  to  be  quite  remarkable  in  one  respect — 
they  are  nearly  all  teetotallers,  and  the  others  are  very  temperate. 
They  are,  also,  highly  moral  and  religious.  About  the  only 
"  redeeming  vice  "  they  have  is  smoking.  Crime  is  quite  un- 
known in  the  community;  at  least,  so  they  say.  The  only  rak- 
ish thing  we  saw  there  was  a  solitary  billiard-room ;  but,  go 
wherever  you  will,  no  matter  how  remote  the  place  may  be, 
there  will,  at  least,  be  billiards.  Every  little  hamlet,  every  ghost 
of  a  hamlet,  will  offer  its  semblance  of  a  "  table."    It  is  a  pleas- 


Steady  Habits. 


79 


TOLL. 

ant  thing  to  think  that  there  is  a  favored  spot  where  lovely  com- 
binations of  color  harmonies,  as  a  born  instinct,  meet  your  rav- 
ished gaze,  combined  with  many  human  virtues.  A  high  art 
and  teetotal  congress  might  hold  a  series  of  revels  on  this  hap- 
py isle,  and  have  a  good  time.  The  principal  drink  of  the  peo- 
ple is  weak  coffee  and  tea,  in  rather  large  quantities.  Whatever 
it  is,  they  are  rosy  and  strong,  and  do  credit  to  it. 

There  are  rather  singular  marriage  and  burial  customs  here, 
naturally,  for,  when  a  people  all  agree  to  dress  in  such  an  orig- 


8o 


Adieu  to  Marken. 


inal  and  extraordinary  manner,  it  would  ill  become  their  state 
of  picturesqueness  to  do  any  of  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life  like 
anybody  else.  The  houses,  too,  have  a  certain  touch  about  their 
order  of  architecture  that  lends  an  indescribable  "  operatic  "  air 
to  the  whole  place. 

Gladly  would  we  have  stayed  on,  but  declining  day  and  tide, 
captain  and  Jacob,  would  wait  no  longer.  So  we  folded  our 
sketching-stools,  and  were  led  away  regretfully.  There  was  the 
promise  of  an  entertaining  sunset  to  enhance  the  effect  of  re- 
ceding Marken,  as  we  sped  on  homeward  over  the  gray,  lumpy 
waves  of  the  Zuider  Zee.  With  a  brisk,  rising  wind  fair  in  her 
sail,  the  "yacht"  fled  like  a  tired  cab-horse  to  his  oats  and  sta- 
ble. This  is  not  a  strictly  nautical  illustration  of  what  I  mean, 
but  I  wished. to  avoid  saying  that  "she  walked  the  waters  like  a 
thing  of  life."  We  soon  ran  our  little  race  before  the  wind,  and 
swung  up  to  the  dock  at  Monnickendam  in  fine  style.  Good- 
ness knows  what  stories  the  driver  of  our  ebon  steeds  had  man- 
aged to  tell  about  the  "  Brazilians  "  during  our  absence,  but  they 
appeared  to  have  awakened  a  lively  interest  in  our  coming  back 
among  the  little-to-do  inhabitants,  as  the  previous  half  who  saw 
us  off  had  evidently  been  increased  by  as  large  a  portion  of  the 
other  half  as  could  manage  to  be  there  to  see  the  return.  Good- 
humored,  and  a  little  inclined  to  chaff,  perhaps,  but  our  happy 
innocence  of  their  peculiar  patois  was  a  good  abiding  shield. 
The  interest  broke  out  into  something  like  enthusiasm  when 
the  pleasing  ceremony  of  settling  up  with  the  skipper  was  per- 
formed. Paying  out  a  number  of  massive  silver  coins,  each  as 
big  as  an  old  Spanish  dollar  (with  an  extra  one  in  as  drink- 
money),  must  have  been  a  rather  effective  display  to  the  on- 
lookers. 

They  fell  in  with  the  procession  to  the  waiting  mourning- 
coach,  forming  around  it  ten  deep  as  we  got  in.    Never  a  sound 


SMALL  PEOPLE  OF  MARKEN. 

6 


Plans  for  the  Morrow. 


83 


until  we  started ;  and  then,  after  one  good  analytical  stare,  arose 
a  very  respectable  sort  of  cheer  from  the  kindly  folk.  They  ev- 
idently had  not  seen  any  "  Brazilians  "  for  a  long  time.  Jacob 
was  rather  proud  of  his  little  joke.  We  could  not  help  remark- 
ing, as  we  rumbled  away  in  the  twilight,  "  How  cheap  and  hol- 
low is  popularity !"  also,  "  What  humbugs  we  are,  and  what 
humbugs  we  pursue  !"  These  and  other  philosophic  reflections 
we  could  not  resist :  they  ever  torment  the  spirit  when  one  is 
hungry  and  cross.  I  own  to  much  of  the  one  condition  and  a 
little  of  the  other. 

Poor  Jacob  was  evidently  a  prey  to  the  sad  reflection  that 
the  famous  table-d'hote  would  be  a  thing  of  the  past  by  the  time 
we  reached  our  hotel,  and,  indeed,  that  exhilarating  festivity  had 
long  since  run  its  various  courses  when  we  arrived,  not  exactly 
iC  dead-tired,"  but  with  a  good  solid  hunger  and  thirst,  begotten 
of  the  day's  enjoyments  and  the  sea-air,  that  we  would  not  have 
parted  with  under  a  good  round  sum  before  the  proper  moment. 
The  proper  moment  soon  came,  in  the  shape  of  as  comforting  a 
little  supper  as  any  one  half  famished  could  wish  for.  What  a 
change,  though,  back  to  the  brilliantly  lighted  banqueting-hall, 
and  the  solemn,  polyglot  waiters  in  full  dress — visions  of  ar- 
chaic costumes,  golden  and  silvern  bedight  maidens,  spinning 
through  one's  brain  meanwhile!  I,  for  one,  felt  as  if  we  had, 
since  morning,  been  to  the  moon,  awake  or  in  a  dream,  and  had 
tumbled  off  or  awakened  with  a  start. 

"  And  now,  gentlemens,  what  about  to-morrow  ?  Do  you  take 
it  easy  about  town,  and  think  it  over — or  what  ?"  Before  that 
little  supper  we  might  have  listened  to  the  faithful  Jacob's  hint, 
for  his  own  ease  and  ours. 

"  What  time  does  the  Friesland  boat  go  ?" 

"  Nine  in  the  morning." 

"  Good  ;  that's  our  boat." 


84  The  Immortal  jfacob. 

"  You  will  go  ?  Very  well.  Take  warm  things  ;  be  all 
ready,  standing  in  the  hall,  by  half -past  eight,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  me." 

What  a  relief !  What  a  lot  of  "  rail  and  boat  time-table " 
bewilderment  saved  us  !    Angel  of  a  Jacob  ! 


JACOB. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


OFF   FOR  FRIESLAND. 

THE  faithful  Jacob,  having  probably  noticed  during  his 
short  experience  with  us  a  certain  disposition  on  our 
part  to  leave  things  generally  to  Providence  and  him- 
self, thought  it  well,  before  bidding  us  good-night  on  the  eve  of 
our  setting  out  for  Friesland,  to  offer  us  a  few  words  of  wisdom, 
and,  so  to  speak,  define  his  position. 

"  Now,  gentlemens,  I  shall  order  your  breakfast  at  a  certain 
hour,  and  the  carriage  at  a  certain  hour,  and  I  will  call  you  to 
the  minute.  Now,  if  you  will  always  jump  as  soon  as  I  call 
you,  there  will  never  be  any  troubles." 

These  and  many  other  injunctions,  to  which  were  added  a 
number  of  worthy  precepts  more  or  less  applicable  to  the  sub- 
ject, were  prodded  well  into  us  with  that  solemn  fat  forefinger, 
that  seemed  made  for  pointing  morals  and  adorning  tales. 

Next  morning,  bright  and  early,  everything  was  as  ready  to 
the  minute  as  the  worthy  one  could  wish,  and  he  was  not  only 
ready,  but  gorgeous,  for  the  occasion.  Noticing  that  our  fasci- 
nated gaze  seemed  unable  to  get  away  from  the  blaze  of  a  large, 
old-fashioned  diamond  "breastpin"  and  chain  nestling  in  the 
spacious  folds  of  a  black  satin  scarf,  the  Faithful  proceeded  to 
elucidate : 

"  I  see  dot  you  look  at  my  pin.    S'e  is  an  air  loam." 
"  A  what  ?" 

Jacob  tried  another  version  :  "  An  ear  loom" 

6* 


86 


Jacob's  Gem. 


We  still  looked  puzzled — wanting  a  few  more  versions. 

"A  heer  loom.  S'e  was  left  to  me  py  my  grandfather;  s'e 
pelongs  by  my  family ;  s'e  is  a  present ;  s'e  was  left  me  in  a 
will.    Now  you  onderstand  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes — an  heirloom." 

k'  Dot's  it." 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  of  being  robbed  or  murdered  ?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  never  was  hurt  yet,  and  I  always  got  him  when 
I  go  on  long  scursions ;  I  dink  s'e  is  safer  wiz  me  as  s'e  is  at 
home,  if  de  house  purn  down.  Pesides,"  added  he,  with  a  fat, 
pleased  smile,  as  he  struggled  to  overcome  his  double  chin,  and 
get  a  glimpse  of  his  treasure  among  the  folds  of  his  cravat, "  I 
tink  s'e  looks  nice — don't  you  ?" 

Of  course  we  did ;  it  was  the  very  thing  we  wanted  to  give 
a  proper  chic  to  the  party.  It  lent  a  certain  air  of  truthfulness 
to  Jacob's  tales  of  our  Brazilian  nativity  ;  for  if  our  very  guide 
and  factotum  could  disport  gems  of  antiquity  and  price  like  unto 
this,  what  could  not  we  do  if  we  thought  it  worth  our  while  to 
care  for  such  vanities !  Then  came  to  mind  the  playful  ad- 
vice of  an  old  traveller  and  sketcher  in  Holland  —  advice  half 
forgotten  until  we  saw  the  blaze  of  Jacob's  "  buzzum-pin." 

"  One  thing  bear  in  mind  now,"  said  the  friend ;  "  buy,  beg, 
or  borrow  the  biggest  and  most  exasperating  diamond  ring  or 
pin,  or  both,  if  possible,  that  money  or  love  can  procure,  and 
wear  such  blazery  wherever  you  go."  We  thought  this  the 
usual  blague  d"  atelier,  and  looked  impervious.  "  No,  no— fact, 
I  assure  you,"  insisted  he.  "  I'll  tell  you  why.  The  people 
there  are  awfully  rich — even  the  poor.  If  they  see  you  sketch- 
ing in  the  street  with  a  big  diamond  ring  on,  they  will  at  once 
put  you  down  as  somebody,  merely  doing  that  sort  o'  thing  for 
your  amusement,  and  not  some  poor  devil  obliged  to  do  it  for 
a  living."    This  was  all  very  well  for  the  friendly  adviser,  to 


\ 


FRIESLAND. 


The  Steamer. 


89 


whom  diamond  rings  were  a  matter  of  mere  "  detail,"  and  who 
would  rather  prefer  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  swell  amateur  than 
to  suffer  the  occasional  winds  of  rough-and-ready  criticism 
to  visit  his  cheek  too  roughly ;  but  for  those  who  have  gone 
through  much  thick  and  thin  in  the  matter  of  sketching  ad- 
venture, even  the  little  diversions  of  the  Scheveningen  fish- 
girls,  who  will  sometimes  (on  dit)  finish  a  sketch  for  you  by 
rubbing  a  handful  of  wet  sand  into  it,  have  not  enough  of 
the  disagreeables  to  induce  one  to  invest  in  any  such  costly 
talismans  against  the  evil  as  he  suggested.  Besides,  he  was  a 
known  farceur.  Anyhow,  nonsense  or  not,  we  felt  a  goodly 
share  of  pride  in  "  Jacob's  dream,"  as  we  promptly  christened 
the  heirloom.  Artful  old  boy !  how  he  used  to  hold  his  double 
chin  well  up  whenever  he  caught  our  eyes  gazing  on  its  splen- 
dors !  Again  it  was  the  mourning  coach  and  the  Roman 
steeds  of  darkness  that  conveyed  us  to  the  steamer.  Good 
speed  too — I  think  that  Jacob  called  it.  the  funeral  return  pace. 
He  had  surely  some  side  interest  in  the  undertaking  business. 

The  steamer  was  not,  after  all,  that  soul  of  punctuality  that 
we  were  led  to  believe  the  night  before.  It  had  even  less  of 
unseemly  haste  to  get  off  than  the  ordinary  Dutch  express 
train.  "  Punctuality  is  the  thief  of  time  :  have  you  heard  that 
proverb  before,  Jacob?"  "Yes,  gentlemens,  I  have  heard  it; 
but  at  de  same  time  s'e  is  well  always  to  be  to  de  minnet,  as  I 
have  know  dese  tarn  steamer  to  go  off  just  at  de  time  dey  say 
so."  One  soon  gets  used  to  this  dignified  way  of  getting  about, 
but,  all  the  same,  one  cannot  help  wondering  if  Dutchmen 
travelling  in  strange  lands  do  not  find  that  trains  and  boats 
do  not  wait  for  them  there  as  they  do  at  home.  Luckily,  we 
were  never  in  a  hurry.  Once  on  the  boat  or  train,  there  was 
no  end  of  amusing  things  to  see  ;  in  fact,  we  were  often  taken 
away  from  just -begun  sketches  that  we  would  have  gladly 


90  Nautical  Compliments. 

stopped  longer  to  finish.  It  was  pleasant  to  take  notes  of 
the  various  little  pictures  made  by  the  tangle  of  brown -sailed, 
broad-beamed  craft.    We  had  even  time  to  observe  the  light- 

o 

some  and  free  ways  of  the  Dutch  female  sailor  —  not  romanti- 
cally disguised  as  a  boy,  but  sporting  a  distinct  (tarry,  more  or 
less)  costume  of  her  own ;  not  so  very  different  either  from  the 
real  boy  ;  or,  rather,  his  dress,  in  one  important  particular,  is  a 
lame  imitation  of  hers.  He  wears  a  pair  of  baggy  breeches,  so 
very  voluminous  and  petticoaty  that  one  has  to  turn  to  other 
peculiarities  of  dress  in  order  to  be  on  the  safe  side  of  judg- 
ment. 

There  is  one  way  of  telling  the  boy  from  the  girl,  however, 
as  far  as  you  can  see  them,  as  he  docs  a  deal  of  vigorous  look- 
ing on  and  smoking,  while  she  does  some  very  pretty  pulling 
and  hauling  and  poling  the  boat  about,  in  harbor,  especially. 
We  saw  one  athletic  young  maiden  shy  a  coil  of  rope  for  a 
youth  on  another  boat  to  catch.  He  did  not  get  his  hands  out 
of  his  capacious  pockets  quickly  enough,  so  the  rope  caught 
him  playfully  about  the  ears  ;  whereupon  ensued  a  rattling  in- 
terchange of  compliments  (probably),  between  these  two  at 
first,  and  then  the  female  sailor  belonging  to  the  lubber's  boat 
"  sailed  in  " — to  use  a  strictly  nautical  term  ;  and  then  it  soon 
developed  into  a  par  tie  carree,  as  the  old  man  at  the  rudder  of 
the  rope-slinging  maiden's  boat  opened  fire.  He  was  a  master- 
hand  at  profanity,  that  aged  mariner.  It  was  just  getting  hot, 
and  deeply  interesting  to  us  on -lookers,  when  our  boat  drew 
out,  with  a  well-directed  broadside  of  invective  from  our  crew, 
bestowed  impartially  and  liberally  on  all  concerned,  for  not  get- 
ting out  of  the  way. 

The  great  locks  of  Schellingwoude  that  let  you  out  into 
the  Zuider  Zee  are  worthy  objects  of  interest  to  those  of  engi- 
neering tastes — huge  piles  of  abstruse  masonry,  machinery,  and 


A  SKETCH  AT  SCHELLINGWOUDE. 


Solid  Criticism. 


93 


iron,  so  solid  and  serious,  so  free  from  anything  frivolous,  that 
I  feel  tempted  to  assume  scientific  knowledge  enough  to  weight 
this  rambling  article  with  a  saving  ballast  of  solid  matter.  Why 
shouldn't  I  ?  Thousands  of  people  write  about  matters  more 
abstruse — art,  for  instance — of  which  they  know  infinitely  less 
than  an  artist  knows  about  engineering,  and  they  manage  to 
come  off  with  eclat.  Why  should  we  not  have  the  credit  of 
making  those  great,  hulking  locks  feel  small  and  humiliated  ? 
It  would  not  be  difficult  to  do  it.  They  really  lack  the  ele- 
ments of  simplicity  and  quiet  that  mark  the  locks  on  the  up- 
per Thames.  There  are  no  flowers,  no  ginger-beer,  no  bend- 
ing reeds  or  waving  willows,  no  free  gush  of  water  here  and 
there  through  the  chinks  in  the  leaky  woodwork,  all  of  which 
lend  such  an  air  of  picturesqueness  to  a  fine  old  river  lock. 
These  comparisons,  skilfully  brought  to  bear,  would  pass  for 
criticism  very  well,  and  we  should  escape  the  reproach  of  hav- 
ing gone  through  one  of  the  most  noble  monuments  of  modern 
engineering  skill  without  a  word  of  appreciation. 

These  locks,  the  pride  of  Holland,  that  seem  to  hold  two 
mighty  floods  by  the  throat  with  a  gigantic,  stony  grasp,  and 
to  keep  the  seas  at  bay,  surely  deserve  more"  worthy  comment 
than  we  know  how  to  give  them.  It  is  not  our  purpose  to  in- 
troduce guide-book  matter  in  the  way  of  statistics ;  we  had  only 
about  ten  minutes'  survey  of  those  mighty  works,  and  those 
minutes  were  given  mostly  to  things  pictorial.  We  own  to  be- 
ing impressed,  even  dazed,  by  these  splendid  examples  of  Dutch 
engineering  skill,  to  say  nothing  of  courage  and  enterprise. 
And  now  we  will  pass  out  on  to  the  broad  swash  of  the  roll- 
ing Zuider  Zee.  It  is  more  in  our  line.  Lest  the  ordinary 
reader  be  inclined  to  think  lightly  of  that  sea,  which  has  been 
so  often  compared  to  the  ambitious  draught  of  a  thirsty  Dutch- 
man, I  will  merely  remark  at  the  outset  —  at  the  first  billow, 


94 


Observations  on  the  Boat. 


in  fact — that  there  was  the  prospect  of  a  long,  eight-hours'  jour- 
ney before  us.  I  do  not  wish  to  say  anything  more  disre- 
spectful to  this  bit  of  water  than  that  it  looks  for  all  the  world 
like  a  temporary  inundation  on  a  large  scale.  Even  the  dis- 
tant spires  and  trees,  rising  above  level  lines  of  dikes,  seem 
to  be,  and  in  many  instances  are  in  fact,  below  the  water-level ; 
and  when  we  ran  In  near  to  land  now  and  then,  the  chimneys 
and  weathercocks,  and  the  tops  of  the  willow-trees,  just  peer- 
ing over  the  rim  of  the  dikes,  gave  one  a  very  uncomfortable 
feeling,  as  if  they  were,  according  to  every  rule  of  perspective, 
about  twenty  feet  under  water.  There  were  not  many  pas- 
sengers that  day,  and,  without  any  disrespect  to  the  few,  they 
were  not  interesting  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  seeker  after 
types  of  costume  or  character.  A  partial  exception  was  an 
old  lady  with  the  close-fitting  gold  helmet  of  Friesland — the 
only  remnant  of  the  national  dress  to  which  she  had  clung. 
The  rest  of  the  dress  was  strictly  non-committal,  so  far  as  pe- 
riod, country,  and  fashion  were  concerned — except  the  bonnet. 
That  was  a  thing  to  make  angels  weep.  At  the  risk  of  being 
thought  rude,  it  was  important  to  find  out  all  about  that  bon- 
net ;  and  unless  one  stared  interminably  that  was  impossible. 
It  had  a  singular  fascination  about  it,  not  because  of  its  own 
merits,  but  simply  on  account  of  its  comical  anachronism.  It 
was  a  weird  combination,  that  solid  golden  helmet,  with  rosettes 
of  gold  filigree  at  each  temple,  and  over  this  a  cap  of  Brussels 
lace  with  flowing  lappets,  and  perched  high  on  this  arrange- 
ment this  Paris  bonnet,  of  the  fashion  of  a  few  years  ago,  brave 
with  mauve  ribbon  and  artificial  flowers  !  She  was  a  dear, 
motherly  old  lady,  with  a  sad,  benevolent  face ;  but,  for  all  that, 
as  she  leaned  over  the  vessel's  side,  contemplating  the  distant 
shore  and  the  approaching  mal  de  mer,  every  ribbon  of  that 
wondrous  bonnet  streaming  in  the  breeze,  she  was  a  picture. 


ON  THE  FRIESLAND  BOAT. 


Harlingen. 


97 


And  even  when  the  inevitable  struggle  with  seasickness  proved 
too  much  for  her,  and  she  sat  with  the  steward's  well-known 
bit  of  faience  on  her  knee,  the  mauve  ribbons  waving  over  the 
golden  head-gear,  she  was  still  a  picture — but  not  for  our  pur- 
pose. Sadly  devoid  of  adventure  was  that  day.  We  only 
touched  at  a  few  of  the  grass -grown  towns,  and  saw  little 
to  note  in  the  brief  period  it  took  to  debark  or  take  on  the 
few  passengers.  It  was  dusk  when  we  got  to  the  end  of  our 
journey  by  boat  at  Harlingen,  and  Leeuwarden  remained  to  be 
reached  by  train. 

7 


CHAPTER  VII. 


LEEUWARDEN. 

THE  station  was  across  the  dock  and  town,  and  as  our 
guide  was  a  stranger  to  the  new  order  of  things, 
he  chartered  a  small  boy,  with  a  pair  of  enormous 
white  sabots,  to  lead  the  way,  and,  as  a  further  badge  upon 
him,  he  was  given  a  white  sketching- bag,  slung  over  his  back, 
so  that  we  should  not  lose  sight  of  him  in  the  thickening 
gloom.  Small  need  of  the  bag,  as  the  sight  (and  clang)  of  his 
wooden  "  shoon  "  would  have  been  sufficient  guidance.  How 
he  did  speed,  that  small  boy,  through  narrow  alleys,  over  nar- 
row canal  footways,  stout  Jacob  wheezing  after  him,  and  we 
after  Jacob !  It  was  a  good  half-hour's  race,  with  a  few  hair- 
breadth escapes  of  getting  overboard  into  dock  or  canal.  How 
bright  and  cheery  the  railway  station  refreshment-room  seemed 
after  the  gloom  and  cold  drizzle  of  out-doors  !  By  the  way,  a 
refreshment-room  in  a  Dutch  station  is  something  so  entirely 
different  from  similar  affairs  on  most  railways  as  to  be  almost 
worthy  of  description.  It  is  roomy  and  bright  and  clean,  but 
the  space  given  to  the  sale  and  consumption  of  refreshments  is 
somewhat  restricted,  and  the  choice  of  things  to  sustain  and 
refresh  is,  to  a  stranger,  embarrassing.  The  pappy  bun,  like  a 
loaf  cut  in  half,  and  sandwiched  with  beef,  ham,  cheese,  or  sau- 
sage, is  ever  to  the  fore,  safe  and  good  enough.  But  the  ap- 
petite in  search  of  other  luxuries  will  find  more  to  bewilder 
than  to  tempt  in  the  array  of  slabs  and  wedges  of  a  material 


Roughing  it.  99 

that  looks  like  bits  of  tessellated  pavement  of  a  simple  and 
severe  pattern.  Sometimes  this  is  a  section  of  sausage ;  some- 
times it  is  a  sort  of  sweet  stuff ;  again,  it  is  a  kind  of  flat  cake ; 
but  in  nearly  every  case  the  ambition  is  to  get  it  as  crisp, 
hard,  and  dotty  as  the  remains  of  a  Roman  villa  flooring.  Tea 
and  coffee  are  always  there,  and  always  good,  besides  a  large 
assortment  of  almost  all  sorts  of  beverages.  In  the  present 
instance  the  young  woman  who  dispensed  these  good  things 
spoke  most  of  the  modern  languages,  and  English  so  very  well 
that  she  seemed,  with  that  gold  head-gear,  to  be  an  English  girl 
in  fancy  dress. 

It  was  a  short  run  to  Leeuwarden,  and  we  soon  were  kindly 
welcomed  (also  in  good  English)  by  the  host  of  its  Doelen  Ho- 
tel. As  we  had  nursed  our  wolfish  appetites  past  the  blandish- 
ments of  the  station  refreshment -counter,  the  cosey  dining- 
room,  bright  fire,  and  pretty  little  dinner  came  to  our  eyes 
and  appetites  like  a  grateful  balm.  And  when,  over  coffee 
and  cigars,  the  landlord  came  in  with  that  very  week's  Punch, 
Graphic,  and  Illustrated  ATews,  we  began  to  remember  that, 
before  starting,  something  was  said  by  the  then  croaking  but 
now  beaming  Jacob  about  the  necessity  of  being  prepared  to 
"  rough  it "  up  in  Friesland. 

"  Why,  you  solemn  old  bird  of  ill  omen,  what  did  you  ex- 
pect us  to  want  ?  Do  you  call  this  rough  ?  Was  not  the 
Burgundy  like  a  solution  of  a  rosy  sunset  in  June?" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  dinks  she  is,"  assented  the  faithful  one,  after 
a  momentary  struggle  with  the  question.  "  You  see  dot  op  in 
dese  old  towns  dey  get  some  such  old  wine  dot  she  don't  get 
down  in  blaces  like  Amsterdam  very  often." 

"  And  how  about  cigars  ?" 

"  Oh,  de  best  cigars,  too,  you  get  here." 

"  And  coffee  and  tea  ?" 


IOO 


Back  Streets. 


"  Yes — oh,  de  virst-rate  tea  and  coffee." 

"  That  is  not  much  like  roughing  it,  Jacob." 

"  Well,  you  see,  dot  depend  on  what  you  pe  customed  to. 
Some  gentlemens  I  drafels  wiz  dey  like  to  vloat  about  in  kon- 
•dolas  in  Venice,  and  some  like  de  schnow  moundain-dops  in 
Schwizzerland ;  some  like  de  picksher- kallery  in  Florence, 
and  so  on.  Dem  sort  of  gentlemens  call  dis  op  here  '  rof- 
fing  it.'  Sure.  Dots  all  I  know.  But  you  will  zee  to-mor- 
row." 

On  the  morrow  the  dear  old  boy  proposed  to  "  rough  it " 
by  getting  a  carriage  and  driving  a  few  miles  out  of  town  to 
show  us  a  fine  old  chateau.  This  hardship  we  agreed  to 
•without  a  murmur.  But,  beforehand,  why  not  drive  all  over 
town — up  and  down  and  around  generally  ?  We  could  then 
judge  if  it  were  worth  a  more  careful  investigation  on  foot. 

Leeuwarden  is  not  at  all  one  of  the  so-called  "  dead  cities 
of  the  Zuider  Zee."  On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  very  lively, 
bright,  modernized,  flourishing  sort  of  a  town.  The  inhabi- 
tants evidently  prefer  a  splendid,  Parisian  -  looking,  new  store, 
with  a  vast  expanse  of  plate-glass,  and  a  goodly  show  of  jew- 
elry, confectionery,  or  drapery,  to  the  small  but  picturesque 
show-windows  of  the  olden  time.  A  good  idea  of  the  ease 
and  wealth  of  an  old  Dutch  city  may  be  formed  from  the 
number  and  magnificence  of  the  goldsmiths'  and  pastry-cooks' 
shops,  and  in  Leeuwarden  they  are  as  numerous  as  gin-palaces 
and  pawnbrokers  in  a  poor  quarter  of  London.  In  fact,  these 
evidences  of  Frisian  thrift  were  so  numerous  and  overpower- 
ing that  we  fled  for  relief  to  the  one  poor  little  part  of  the 
town.  It  was  down  a  very  "  Petticoat  Lane  "  of  a  street  that 
we  turned.  There  were  the  usual  kinds  of  shops  that  abound 
in  such  a  neighborhood — chiefly  of  marine  stores,  slop  clothes, 
refreshments,  rattle-trappery,  and  even,  in  its  more  respectable 


FISHER  GIRL  OF  FRISIA. 


Bargains.  103 

form,  that  which  might  be  called  bric-a-brac  of  a  certain  kind. 
We  halted  before  a  better  one  of  this  sort  of  place.  There 
were  certain  indications  of  nice  bits  of  old  blue — the  nearly 
black  old  indigo  tint  —  and  in  the  far  shadows  of  the  back 
shop  was  a  strong  suspicion  of  some  interesting  old  silver. 
Old  brass  things  seemed  to  be  "  in  the  air,"  and  things  that 
looked  like  bits  of  good  old  wood -carving  peeped  out  from 
among  the  ruck  of  common  modern  gimcrackery  which,  be- 
cause it  had  come  to  a  premature  state  of  dilapidation,  tried 
to  pass  itself  off  as  an  honest  article  de  virtu,  or  even  as  good 
bric-a-brac  of  a  respectable  ancestry.  We  found,  on  nearer  in- 
spection, but  very  few  really  tempting  things,  and  wre  also 
found,  as  usual,  that  the  frowzy  woman  in  charge  did  not  know 
their  prices.  She  soon  sent  a  fleet-footed  little  maiden  in 
search  of  the  husband,  who  returned  as  fast  as  his  legs  could 
carry  him,  in  a  high  state  of  excitement,  and  ravenous  for  a 
bargain.  "  Only  a  pound "  (he  could  speak  a  little  English) 
seemed  to  be  the  smallest  price  he  could  think  of,  and  for 
things  not  worth  more  than  a  florin.  The  ground  had  been 
pretty  well  raked  over  by  the  keen  hunters  from  Amsterdam 
and  the  larger  Dutch  towns,  and  as  in  the  -larger  towns  we 
had  found  the  same  things  cheaper,  not  to  say  better,  we  were 
not  recklessly  lavish  with  our  pounds  in  that  stuffy  little  shop. 
When  the  excited  husband  had  cooled  down  a  little  he  began 
to  listen  to  his  wife's  mild  hints  to  abate.  She  had  nervously 
followed  at  his  heels,  evidently  appalled  at  the  awful  sums  he 
was  asking.  Very  soon  the  florin  took  the  place  of  the  pound, 
and  he  was  glad  to  sell  even  at  that.  He  had  a  few  articles 
of  old  Frisian  costume  that  we  took  at  about  twice  the  value. 
But,  oh,  the  wild  excitement  in  that  lane !  Our  chariot  had 
gone  on  to  the  end,  where  the  way  was  wide  enough  to  let  other 
things  pass,  and  we  walked  on,  headed  by  Jacob  bearing  the 


io4 


Slumming  in  Leeuwai'den. 


bundles.  It  was  not  enough  for  them  to  stand  in  the  doorways 
and  beckon  to  us.  Some  got  into  the  roadway  and  tried  to 
sell  us  every  sort  of  thing  the  street  dealt  in,  from  carved  bed- 
steads to  smoked  eels.  It  was  that  chariot  and  pair,  and  Ja- 
cob, with  his  diamond  pin,  bearing  away  the  plunder,  that  made 
the  frenzy  what  it  was. 

There  were  a  few  side  veins  to  this  one  poor  artery  of 
poverty.  We  glanced  down  them  as  we  passed.  They  were 
mostly  swarming  with  children.  Between  the  windows  of  the 
houses  were  stretched  lines  of  clothes  out  to  dry  ;  they  were 
flapping  in  the  air.  It  made  a  dusky  grove  of  the  narrow  way ; 
and  they  were  not  the  balmy  odors  of  an  orange  grove  that 
were  wafted  to  us  as  we  passed  them.  Even  in  these  poor 
streets  we  saw  fleeting  glimpses  of  working-wromen  scavenging, 
hanging  out  clothes,  huckstering,  and  all  wearing  silver  head- 
gear, and  some  with  golden  ornaments :  they  looked  like  great 
metallic-headed  beetles  flitting  about  in  the  dusky  shadows. 

We  tried  another  little  old.  shop  down  by  the  waters  edge. 
It  was  the  same  tale — few  things  worth  having,  and  those  at 
fancy  prices.  (Five  pounds  for  a  fly -specked  old  engraving 
with  a  worm-eaten  frame  !  Jacob  translated  for  the  ferrety  old 
dame :  "  She  zay  he  is  very  scarce,  almost  never  now — dot  pick- 
sher — nobody  has  got  'im  now  but  she."  We  did  not  rob  her 
of  it.  They  were  of  little  or  no  profit  to  either  of  us,  these 
bric-a-brac  hunts.  Still,  there  was  always  the  chance  of  a  stray 
bit  of  good  "  color  " — some  bit  of  "  azure,"  or  "  lemon,"  or  "  sang 
de  bceuf"  crackle.  Vain  quest! — it  was  not  worth  the  soiled 
gloves  one  got  in  turning  over  the  grimy  rubbish. 

We  found  all  through  Holland  a  most  extravagant  value  at- 
tached to  good  old  Delft  ware.  The  Delft  imitations  of  Japa- 
nese ware  were  valued  far  more  than  the  originals,  while  for 
old  Delft  pottery  with  Biblical  subjects,  or  with  the  sets  of  the 


LEEUWARDEN  GOSSIP. 


f 


Rare  Old  Blue.  107 

"Months''  or  the  44  Seasons,1'  there  was  no  sum  thought  too 
much  to  ask. 

I  remember  seeing  a  rather  fine  pair  of  old  jars  in  the  win- 
dow of  a  somewhat  modern  furniture  shop ;  they  were  unusu- 
ally good  —  a  Dutch  imitation  of  a  kind  of  "  Hawthorne"  pat- 
tern. We  went  in  to  ask  the  price.  They  were  not  for  sale. 
"  Were  they  already  sold  ?"  "  No."  "  Then  why  in  the  win- 
dow ?"  "  Oh,  to  attract  customers."  "  But  what  is  the  sense 
of  attracting  customers  for  them  if  they  won't  sell  them  ?" 
Jacob  was  translating  back  and  forth,  and  was  getting  person- 
ally hot  and  resentful,  far  beyond  our  sentiments  in  the  matter. 
The  idea  of  the  shopman  seemed  to  be  that  the  customer  for 
the  vases,  finding  them  not  for  sale,  would  then  in  despera- 
tion buy  veneered  wardrobes,  four-post  bedsteads,  and  kitchen 
chairs  !  Whether  this  had  paid  him  in  any  way  we  did  not 
seek  to  know.    I  know  that  we  did  not  pay. 

For  their  own  personal  tastes  the  very  knowing  Dutch  col- 
lectors only  buy  and  keep  the  very  fine  wee  bits  of  delicate  blue 
of  that  "  sky  after  rain  "  tint — so  rare — the  white  of  that  soft 
"  creamy "  tone  that  is  almost  unique.  These  little  bits  they 
enshrine  in  morocco  cases,  velvet  lined,  and  it  is  the  correct 
thing  to  hold  one's  breath  when  the  case  is  opened,  for  fear  of 
accidents.  It  is  not  only  in  paste  and  color  that  these  little 
jewel-cased  specimens  are  so  different  from  the  ordinary  run  of 
blue-and-white — the  art  itself  is  of  another  kind  almost.  It  is 
more  individual,  and  not  so  conventional.  The  little  pieces 
were  not  done  by  the  workmen  in  some  factory,  but  by  the 
court  painter  of  some  great  prince. 

I  might  be  inclined  to  apologize  for  this  blue-and-white  di- 
gression were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  this  particular  craze  is  so 
much  a  thing  of  Holland  that  it  might  almost  be  called  part 
of  its  history.     How  many  of  the  lucky  ones  went  bric-a-brac 


io8  The  Levelness  of  Things. 

hunting  in  the  Netherlands  with  exceeding  good  "  finds  "  a 
dozen  years  or  so  ago !  And  how  many  of  the  simple  of  faith 
go  in  these  later  days  and  come  back  wiser  and  sadder  from  the 
quest !    I  will  not  say,  "  Alas  !"  as  I  belong  to  neither  party. 

We  did  not  see  much  to  impress  us  in  the  way  of  architect- 
ure as  we  drove  about  Leeuwarden.  There  were  some  superior 
modern  houses — large  club-house-looking  places — and  notable 
government  buildings.  Plate-glass  and  stone  or  stucco  seemed 
the  correct  idea.  The  streets  were  wide  and  well  paved — the 
boulevard  had  triumphed  over  the  canal  —  and  the  gay  Man- 
sard roof  was  crowding  out  the  old  Dutch  gable.  There  was 
a  town-hall  more  or  less  interesting.  The  style  was  French,  of 
the  rococo  period ;  it  had  merely  a  slight  Dutch  accent.  There 
was  a  very  fine  prison  too  (the  "  Chancellerie,"  built  in  1504), 
that  they  were  very  vain  of ;  it  wras  supposed  to  be  rather  a 
favor  to  be  locked  up  in  it — according  to  Jacob. 

The  costumes  were  not  remarkable,  except  in  respect  of  the 
golden  head-gear  of  the  women.  The  Frisian  women  are  gen- 
erally very  handsome,  especially  about  Leeuwarden.  The  men 
were  fine,  sturdy,  frank,  kindly  fellows,  and  every  one  seemed 
happy  and  good-tempered. 

It  was  all  delightful  and  bright,  but,  when  one  expects  to 
rough  it,  this  degree  of  style  and  comfort  bores  one,  and  sends 
him  in  search  of  the  unpleasant.  Perhaps  the  country  on  the 
way  to  Jacob's  famous  "  chateau  "  would  be  more  to  our  taste. 
The  first  impressions  of  it,  as  we  saw  it  on  either  side  of  the 
well-paved,  long,  level  stretch  of  road,  were  that  it  had  never 
lost  any  spare  time  or  ground  in  trying  to  be  picturesque. 
There  were  none  of  the  little  accidents  of  hill,  dale,  or  stream  to 
mar  its  far- stretching  simplicity.  Fat  black  and  white  cows, 
and  drowsy,  pale -eyed  sheep,  thin  of  leg  and  long  of  tail,  but 
heavy  and  white  in  fleece,  were  pasturing  in  rich,  fat,  lush 


AN  OLD  GATEWAY. 


The  Chateau. 


1 1 1 


meadows  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see — so  far  into  the  dim  hori- 
zon that,  where  the  sky  mingled  its  haze  with  the  haze  of  the 
distant  fields,  it  was  difficult  to  say  where  white  dots  of  beasts 
left  off  and  the  little  cloudlets  of  the  sky  began.  On  either 
side  of  the  road  were  willows  or  plane-trees,  planted  with  all  the 
uniformity  of  the  accompanying  telegraph  poles.  Outside  the 
rows  of  trees  ran  the  green-mantled,  rush-fringed  ditches.  There 
are  very  few  fences  or  hedges  in  any  part  of  Holland.  Now 
and  again  we  would  come  to  a  tall  gate  just  over  a  little  wooden 
bridge  crossing  the  weedy  moat.  The  gate  would  not  be  con- 
tinued on  either  side  of  the  bridge  by  fence  or  railing — nothing 
but  itself  above  ground.  Beyond  the  gate  would  be  a  thriving 
farmstead,  bright,  orderly,  and  evidently  reeking  with  prosperity. 
The  little  green  duck-weedy  moat  would  encircle  the  house  and 
belongings  ;  a  sweet,  peaceful  little  wooden  summer-house  would 
perch  prettily  over  the  verdant  pool,  and  often  in  the  afternoon 
might  be  seen  contented  rustics  revelling  therein  in  tea  and 
"  koecken,"  as  if  rheumatism  had  no  terrors  for  them.  I  don't 
wish  to  be  thought  perverse,  but  I  must  say  that  after  a  few 
miles  of  these  calm  delights,  this  moving  panorama  of  pros- 
perity began  to  pall  slightly.  This  was  not  the  kind  of  thing, 
delightful  as  it  was,  that  we  came  so  far  to  see.  When  may 
we  look  forward  to  some  interesting  discomfort  ?  Even  a  little 
acute  misery  would  be  a  relief.  "  Jacob,  awake !  Where  is  this 
chateau  ?"  In  a  few  moments  we  actually  went  up  a  gentle  hill, 
an  elevation  of  about  two  feet  to  the  hundred.  It  was  some- 
thing to  wake  one  up  in  Holland.  And  soon  the  chateau  came 
upon  us  with  so  delightful  a  surprise  that  we  accepted  without 
a  murmur  the  promise  of  a  charming  visit,  and  a  further  dose 
of  unmixed  pleasure. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  fine  old  place.  The  orders  of  architecture 
were  somewhat  mixed.    It  had  a  small  portion  of  fifteenth  cen- 


I  I  2 


An  Imposing  Fountain. 


tury,  and  then  it  was  added  to  largely  and  well  in  the  seven- 
teenth, and  tinkered  up  here  and  there  in  the  eighteenth,  and 
all  but  made  nonsensical  in  a  few  spots  in  the  early  nineteenth  ; 
but  these  bad  places  were  few,  and  not  prominent,  mostly  show- 
ing in  the  in-door  decoration  of  a  few  rooms.  There  was  a  fine 
wide  moat  all  around,  and  here  and  there  steps  leading  to  the 
water,  a  moss-stained,  gray  stone  wall,  a  stately,  carved  gateway, 
stone  seats  on  either  side,  many  tall,  shadowing  trees  within  and 
without  the  grounds,  and — delight  of  delights  to  the  country 
about,  far  beyond  the  building  itself — there  was  a  tall  rock-work 
fountain,  of  the  kind  that  one  so  tepidly  admires  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne.  The  rock-work  was  of  stucco  or  cement,  sea-shells 
were  jammed  into  it,  ferns  were  coaxed  to  grow  over  it,  and 
when  the  water  had  been  pumped  up  from  the  moat  to  a  reser- 
voir over  the  gateway,  so  as  to  get  a  fall,  and  then  turned  on, 
the  effect  was  a  thing  of  joy  to  all  beholders.  The  beaming 
old  housekeeper  was  so  bent  on  showing  us  the  cascade  that  it 
would  have  been  a  cruel  blow  if  we  had  not  patiently  watched 
the  exhibition  to  the  end.  It  took  only  about  ten  minutes  to 
empty  the  cistern.  There  was  no  surprise  or  variety  in  the 
display,  only  a  steady  dribble  over  the  plaster  rocks.  We  ap- 
plauded, to  please  the  good  dame,  but  did  not  cry  encore,  as  we 
might  have  had  to  pump.  It  was  painfully  funny,  too,  to  see 
this  shoddy  rock-work  excrescence  marring  the  whole  effect  of 
that  grand  old  courtyard  and  house.  Why  could  we  not  speak 
boldly  out,  and  say, "  Good  vrouw,  this  base  imposture  is  an  eye- 
sore and  a  childish  fraud,  and  you  may  say  so  to  your  good 
masters "  ?  We  smiled  so  unreservedly,  however,  instead  of 
saying  anything  of  the  kind,  that  no  doubt  we  shall  be  spoken 
of  as  two  strange  gentlemen  from  the  far  Americas,  who  came 
all  across  the  ocean  on  purpose  to  admire  that  cascade.  The 
old  house  itself,  without  having  any  real  resemblance,  somehow 


IN  CHURCH. 


Three  Proper  Dutchmen, 


ii5 


reminded  us  of  Haddon  Hall.  Of  course,  it  is  in  better  preser- 
vation. It  belongs  to  three  bachelor  brothers  living  in  Leeu- 
warden,  who  use  it  as  a  summer  retreat,  sometimes  in  turn, 
sometimes  all  together.  Each  has  his  own  suite  of  rooms,  and 
they  all  enjoy  it  in  common.  They  share  the  revenues  and  pay 
the  expenses  equally.  Sometimes  the  place  is  nearly  filled  with 
the  combined  friends  and  the  three  hosts.  We  were  shown  all 
over  the  house  unreservedly.  Three  rooms  were  unfurnished, 
and  on  the  floors  and  shelves  were  piles  of  fragrant  apples  and 
pears,  equally  divided  —  each  brother  his  room  and  his  fruit. 
There  was  the  separate  smoking-room  of  each,  and  the  great  gen- 
eral smoking-room,  and  the  billiard  and  card  room  of  all,  besides. 


A  YOUTH  OF  PROMISE. 


n6 


Their  House. 


The  dining-room  was  very  perfect :  high  dado  of  oak  panel- 
ling, walls  covered  with  warm  old  golden  Spanish  leather,  old 
oaken  cabinets,  some  very  finely  carved — one  or  two  of  fifteenth- 
century  work,  but  mostly  of  seventeenth  —  some  really  good 
pictures — portraits  of  the  leading  members  of  the  family  for 
many  generations.  One  large  picture  was  a  view  of  the  house 
when  it  was  in  its  prime.  There  was  the  grand  old  courtyard 
(long  before  the  sham  fountain) ;  there  were  gay  cavaliers  with 
broidered  cloaks,  buff  boots,  laced  doublets,  and  jewelled  rapiers  ; 
ladies  with  those  wondrous  satin  gowns  and  Flemish  ruffs  that 
Terburgh  knew  so  well  how  to  paint ;  children  with  bunched- 
out  gowns  that  came  down  to  the  rosettes  of  their  embroidered 
buff  shoes ;  a  great  regal-looking  ark  of  a  high-hung,  painted- 
panelled  coach,  drawn  by  four  dappled  steeds — these  and  all  the 
surroundings  of  bygone  splendor  were  therein  set  forth.  There 
was  the  same  gateway,  the  same  stone  seats,  the  same  steps 
leading  to  the  moat.  Besides  the  pictures  were  brass  sconces 
for  candles,  mirrors  in  ebony  frames,  and  many  plates  of  old 
Japanese  blue-and-red  ware — the  indigo  blue,  and  the  red  like 
bullock's  blood — and  the  design  harmonized  with  flowers  in  flat 
gold.  The  cabinets  were  garnished  with  great  beakers  and 
flagons  of  glass  and  various  metals.  The  floor  was  of  polished 
oak,  and  the  chimneypiece  of  carved  oak  and  tiles.  One  sees 
just  such  interiors  again  and  again  in  Dutch  pictures  of  the 
time.  In  fact,  we  seemed  to  have  walked  bodily  into  a  large 
picture.  There  was  a  mellow  tone  over  all ;  even  the  light  that 
filtered  in  through  parchment-colored  stained  glass  seemed  like 
the  light  in  a  De  Hooee.  The  blacks  were  not  the  cold,  harsh, 
chilling,  modern  blacks,  but  deep  and  warm,  like  the  lowest 
notes  on  an  old  church  organ.  Every  tint,  every  tone,  was  part 
of  the  one  pervading  golden  harmony  !  How  fortunate,  too, 
that  no  vulgar  ambition  to  improve  and  alter  had  led  any  one 


The  Contents. 


117 


of  the  past  generations  to  change  the  arrangement  of  a  single 
thing  in  this  one  room !  How  many  had  been  born  to  this 
room,  lived  with  it  all  their  lives,  and  left  it  as  they  happily 


BEDROOM  IN  THE  OLD  CHATEAU. 


found  it !  May  they  rest  peacefully  in  their  tombs  for  that  one 
virtue  alone ! 

In  the  common  smoking-room  were  three  separate  racks  of 
long  clay  and  other  pipes,  three  large  jars  of  tobacco,  and  each 
had  its  attendant  display  of  ash-trays  and  pipe-lights.  Three 


n8 


The  Attic. 


sets  of  spirit-bottles  and  wine-glasses,  and  three  groups  of  tank- 
ards and  mugs,  were  in  three  corner  cupboards.  What  festive 
times  they  must  have  had,  and  still  have,  now  and  then,  this 
worthy  trio ! 

We  were  shown  an  old  panelled  bedroom,  with  the  bed  set 
in  an  alcove.  There  had  been  no  rearrangement  here,  either; 
everything  was  of  two  hundred  years  ago  in  the  way  of  furni- 
ture. There  was  no  fading,  or  moth  or  rust  or  dust,  to  mark 
the  passing  years.  The  high,  carved  chimneypiece  was  kept  as 
well ;  the  brass  firedogs  and  the  tongs  and  shovel  shone  like 
gold.  We  were  left  a  long  time  in  it  to  ourselves,  to  make 
sketches,  and  would  gladly  have  stayed  longer. 

We  mounted  the  turret  stair  to  the  roof  in  the  old  part,  to 
get  a  view  of  the  country.  It  lay  beneath  us  like  a  faintly  tint- 
ed old  map.  Far  in  the  distance  was  a  faint  streak  of  the  Zui- 
der  Zee,  and  all  between  were  long,  straight  lines  of  glimmering 
canals  and  rivers.  Little  clusters  of  green  trees,  where  toy-like 
spires  peeped  out,  told  where  the  little  villages  were  nestled 
away.  The  people  and  the  horses,  crawling  along  the  straight, 
interminable  roads,  looked  like  ants.  But  all  was  movement, 
coming  and  going — no  lonely  or  deserted  spot  anywhere.  In 
the  black  spots  where  the  turf-pits  were,  little  figures  were  dig- 
ging and  cutting  and  wheeling  away  like  mad.  The  innumera- 
ble flocks  and  herds  were  ever  shifting  and  creeping  about  the 
flat  wastes  of  green  pasture.  Shepherds  and  cowherds  and 
milkmaids  and  other  pastoral  figures  were  plodding  picturesque- 
ly about  in  liberal  proportions  to  the  cattle ;  and  as  all  the  little 
sounds  from  the  field-labor  came  to  us  on  the  delicious  breeze, 
we  could  not  repress  a  quiet  grin  at  Jacob.  We  did  not  say, 
"  Do  you  call  this  roughing  it  ?"  but  he  knew  what  we  were 
thinking  of. 

The  old  lady  must  have  thought  we  had  come  to  spend  the 


The  Kitchen.  1 1 9 

day,  so  long  did  we  linger,  so  often  did  we  go  back  to  certain 
things  just  to  have  another  look.  There  was,  perhaps,  just  the 
ghost  of  a  hint  in  the  good  vrouw's  suggestion  that  we  would,  no 
doubt,  like  to  see  the  kitchen  before  we  went.    "  By  all  means!" 

It  was  no  common,  out-of-the-way,  down-stairs  back  place, 
that  kitchen,  as  we  soon  found.  It  was  a  roomy  hall,  opening 
on  a  sunny  garden,  bright,  sweet,  and  spotless.  It,  too,  had 
been  left  unmodernized.  Jan  Steen  or  De  Hooge  might  have 
sat  down  and  painted  the  entire  place,  old  lady  and  all,  without 
finding  a  single  thing  to  surprise  him,  except,  perhaps,  a  tiny 
little  sewing-machine,  that  looked  homesick  and  lonely,  in  a  cor- 
ner. No  description  can  do  full  justice  to  the  perfect  harmony 
of  form  and  tone  of  this  quiet  arrangement  in  blue  and  white 
tiles,  and  gold,  copper,  and  silver  looking  batterie  de  cuisine. 
The  great  black  leopard  of  a  cat  uncoiled  and  stretched  himself 
on  the  ample  cushion  of  the  broad  arm-chair,  and  then,  rolling 
himself  again  into  a  ball,  took  no  further  note  of  us.  When  we 
arrived,  we  had  evidently  called  the  good  dame  away  from  peel- 
ing onions  and  reading  the  Bible.  There  were  her  spectacles 
between  the  leaves,  to  mark  the  place ;  there  was  the  knife  be- 
tween the  coats  of  the  onion.  Over  all,  like  incense,  seemed  a 
mingled  aroma  of  sweet  peace,  virtue,  piety,  and  savory  stew. 
She  was  glowingly  proud  of  her  kitchen.  It  was  broad  and 
ample  and  capable.  She  had  shown  us  the  rest  of  the  chateau 
with  a  sense  of  being  a  belonging  of  the  place,  but  this  was  her 
very  own  domain,  and  the  rest  of  the  house  and  grounds,- even 
the  cascade,  was  nothing  to  it,  in  her  eyes. 

We  wrote  our  names  and  addresses  in  the  visitors'  book, 
and,  if  Jacob  had  been  telling  that  dear  old  lady  that  we  were 
Brazilians,  he  should  have  arranged  with  us  accordingly. 

Back  again,  by  another  road,  to  town.  It  might,  however, 
have  been  the  same  one  over  again,  so  much  did  they  re- 


120 


Leeuwarden  Antiquities. 


semble  each  other  in  the  placid  uniformity  of  their  general 
features. 

If  those  favored  mortals  who  pride  themselves  on  the  perfect 
regularity  of  their  facial  lines  could  only,  for  once,  see  how  much 
they  resemble  the  monotonously  perfect  landscape  in  want  of 
interest,  they  would  court  some  happy  accident  in  order  to 
give  their  mask  the  charm  of  variety  and  expression.  I  know 
of  one  fine  Greek-visaged  youth  who  was  immensely  improved 
by  the  slight  welt  of  a  sabre-cut  on  one  cheek,  just  in  the  right 
place,  and  not  overdone.  Since  then  neither  himself  nor  his 
fond  family  would  have  the  cheek  fair  and  unscarred  again  for 
anything:  not  that  it  showed  well  as  a  mark  of  valor — he  did 
not  need  that — but  for  mere  pictorial  considerations.  There  are 
certain  antiquities  in  Leeuwarden  well  worth  seeing;  among 
others,  the  surviving  tower  of  the  old  Church  of  St.  Vitus.  All 
the  rest  of  the  once  fine  building  is  level  with  the  ground.  The 
tower  is  of  brick  and  stone  work,  early  fifteenth  century.  Judg- 
ing by  this  fragment,  the  design  of  the  rest  must  have  been  very 
rich  and  ornate.  It  seems  that  the  sea  once  came  up  to  the 
very  water-gates  of  the  church — centuries  ago — according  to  old 
charts  and  documents ;  but  the  gates  are  dust,  and  the  sea  is 
miles  away,  across  the  far-stretching  meadows,  behind  the  high- 
banked  dikes.  There  was  an  old  Frisian  church  here  on  this 
spot  long  before  the  one  was  built  to  which  the  crumbling  tower 
belonged.  In  fact,  Friesland  reaches  back  into  remote  antiqui- 
ty, it  having  been,  so  to  say,  discovered  by  a  certain  Friso,  seek- 
ing peace  and  relief  from  royal  family  disputes  in  the  East, 
somewhere  about  two  centuries  before  the  Christian  era.  He 
and  his  followers  settled  hereabouts,  and  gave  the  land  the  name 
it  now  bears.  They  built  a  temple  to  the  worship  of  Stavo — 
or  Jupiter — and  the  place  was  long  called  Stavora,  now  Stavo- 
ren.    Friso's  two  brothers,  Bruno  and  Saxo,  went  farther  afield, 


Elastic  Erudition  of  Jacob. 


I  2  I 


and  founded  what  are  now  Brunswick  and  Saxony.  But  we  will 
not  digress.  We  merely  mention  these  widely  known  facts  to 
show  that  Friesland  is  not  a  place  of  last  week,  and  that  proba- 
bly on  this  very  spot,  sacred  to  St.  Vitus,  there  had  been  a  few 
pagan  altars,  and  then  a  remotely  early  Christian  church  or  two, 
and  then  the  series  belonging  to  this  leaning  tower  of  brick, 
which,  by  the  way,  parted  from  its  main  body  in  1500 — as  it 
were,  only  the  day  before  yesterday.  Friesland  calls  itself  "  Free 
Friesland"  even  to  this  day.  It  has  never  been  very  thoroughly 
mixed  up  and  incorporated  with  Holland.  The  race  type  is 
quite  different  from  that  of  North  Holland,  and  the  language  is 
still  a  weariness  to  the  other  Dutchmen.  We  found  many 
Frieslanders  who  spoke  excellent  English.  They  take  to  it  as 
the  Amsterdam  people  do  to  German,  those  of  the  Hague  to 
French,  and  those  of  Rotterdam  to  English  again. 

But  we  seem  to  have  forgotten  the  tower,  through  "  drop- 
ping into"  history,  like  Mr.  Wegg.  We  tried  the  erudition 
of  Jacob  on  the  subject.  "  How  old  ?  Well,  I  should  zay  dot 
she  is  ofer  a  honderd  years.  Maybe  more.  I  won't  be  sure. 
Dis  womans  here,  she  say  she  know  dat  tower  when  'er  grand- 
moder  was  a  little  girl."  "  It  was  long  before  that."  11  Well, 
den,  dot's  what  I  said  to  her.  She  must  be  tree  honderd, 
perhaps  a  tousand."  Jacob  always  had  a  very  elastic  kind  of 
knowledge,  that  obligingly  stretched  itself  to  the  full  extent  of 
any  possibility.  As  we  thought  it  might  be  of  interest  to  see 
the  inside  of  this  tower,  he  secured  a  small  and  eager  boy,  who 
delegated  a  little  girl  to  bring  the  entire  family  who  had  the 
keys  in  charge.  We  did  not  find  very  much  of  interest  on  the 
main  floor ;  the  place  seemed  to  be  the  chosen  repository  of  all 
the  ladders  and  trucks  and  old  wheelbarrows  of  the  neighbor- 
hood.  The  top  story,  where  the  "  view  "  was  to  be  had,  must  be 
attained  by  a  series  of  these  ladders,  and  they  were  in  such  num- 


122 


i 

Guardians  of  the  Tower. 


bers  all  about  the  place  that  it  was  difficult,  in  the  dim,  cob- 
webby obscurity,  to  get  started  on  the  right  ones.  Jacob,  hav- 
ing conceived  a  marked  antipathy  to  the  small  but  daring  boy, 
chose  his  own  ladder,  and  we  toiled  up  after  him,  to  find  our- 
selves landed  somewhere  beneath  the  rafters,  among  the  spiders, 
against  a  blank  wall,  it  seemed  in  the  gloom.  So  we  came  down 
again,  and  the  boy  got  rated  for  leading  us  astray.  Then  arose 
the  question,  "  What  should  we  see,  after  all,  if  we  did  go  to  the 
top  ?"  Well,  we  should  see  the  new  prison  and  the  old  prison, 
and  the  new  boulevards,  where  the  old  ramparts  used  to  be,  and 
where  the  old  gates  used  to  be  before  they  were  pulled  down, 
and  a  lot  more  exciting  things.  It  was  tempting,  but  the  spi- 
der-webs were  not ;  so  we  took  the  thing  for  granted,  and  went 
forth  into  the  air  again.  The  small  boy  received  his  modest 
nickel  gratuity  with  noisy  derision,  and  was  thereupon  de- 
nounced by  Jacob  as  a  dishonor  to  his  parents ;  he  was  then 
cuffed  by  the  various  owners  of  the  keys  of  the  tower.  He 
retired  from  the  scene  in  tears,  accompanied  by  the  sympa- 
thizing little  girl,  to  be  consoled,  and  to  divide  the  proceeds. 
The  final  settlement  with  the  entire  family  of  keyholders  was 
not  effected  without  much  lively  wrangling.  We  left  the  little 
strife,  and  took  notes  of  the  general  effects  of  grouping  from 
afar.  Jacob  soon  came  to  us,  reporting  damages  at  something 
under  sixpence,  and  vowing  never  to  revisit  the  scene  of  extor- 
tion so  long  as  he  lived.  He  called  them  very  severe  names  in 
various  languages,  and  even  spoke  disparagingly  of  the  tower. 
Such  are  the  effects  of  oblique  prejudices  !  And  yet,  after  all, 
our  dusty  grope  up  those  ladders,  and  our  sudden  introduction 
to  the  spiders  and  bats,  were  the  only  moments  of  any  approach 
to  "  roughing  it "  that  we  had  encountered  in  Friesland.  The 
little  altercation  with  the  key-keepers  was  Jacob's  own  affair. 
He  fairly  trembled  with  indignation,  and  found  it  difficult  to 


Old  Houses. 


123 


become  calm  again.  We  merely  shook  with  merriment,  and 
returned  to  seriousness  with  great  difficulty. 

The  next  day  we  discovered  some  very  interesting  old  Fris- 
ian houses,  after  a  little  search.  There  was  one  that  had  evi- 
dently been  an  old  book  printer's  and  binder's,  as  the  symbols 
of  the  craft  were  sculptured  on  a  fine  old  stone  tablet  over  the 
door.    The  costumes  and  appliances  indicated  the  middle  of 


THE  RIGHTEOUS  EXPOSTULATIONS  OF  JACOB. 


the  seventeenth  century  as  the  period  which  claimed  this  fine 
old  specimen.  Many  of  these  old  tablets  are  painted  in  lively 
colors  over  the  carving,  and  some  of  them  have  bits  of  gilding 
where  escutcheons  and  arms  occur.  They  all  have,  more  or 
less,  a  certain  charm  of  decorative  effect,  besides  their  historical 
interest.  It  is  a  fashion  that,  in  this  aesthetic  age,  is  sure  to 
revive,  with  good  effect,  as  our  habitations  become  more  sug- 


124 


M.  Havard's  Ideas. 


gestive  of  an  art-loving  people,  and  less  like  great,  dull  boxes  of 
unlovely  brick  and  mud-pie  stucco.  Havard,  who  has  written 
so  much  and  so  well  of  the  Netherlands  of  to-day,  always  has  a 
kindly  word  for  the  new  style  of  architecture  he  saw  creeping  in 
in  Holland;  he  always  speaks  of  the  " delicieuses  maisonnettes, 
riantes,  coquettes,  pimpantes"  etc.,  perhaps  because  they  remind 
him  of  a  French  provincial  town ;  but,  as  every  one  is  not  so  en- 
amoured of  that  kind  of  thing  as  he  is,  one  does  not  always  quite 
agree  with  him.  However,  the  "  maisonnettes  "  are  increasing 
in  such  numbers,  and  the  iconoclastic  spirit  is  so  ruthless  among 
the  Dutch,  that,  if  one  cares  to  see  the  few  relics  of  past  archi- 
tecture still  remaining,  he  had  better  be  quick  about  it,  as  they 
are  fast  disappearing. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


ZWOLLE. 


S  we  had  heard  much  of  the  town  of  Zwolle  and  its  many 


us,  as  it  afterwards  turned  out — Hindeloopen,  Stavoren,  and  the 
island  of  Urk.  One  generally  is  obliged  to  go  to  a  country  two 
or  three  times  in  order  to  know  exactly  where  the  places  are 
that  he  wishes  to  see.  We  were  told  that,  if  we  missed  all 
else,  we  should  see  Zwolle,  but  no  one  mentioned  Kampen, 
near  by,  and  much  better,  as  we  knew  later.  Of  course,  if 
one's  time  has  a  given  limit,  only  a  certain  number  of  places 
can  be  seen,  and  if  the  vaunted  towns  fall  flat,  and  the  good  but 
unheard-of  places  are  ignorantly  passed  aside,  experience  and 
time  only  can  teach  one  better,  and  we  only"  knew  better  when 
too  late.  The  ride  from  Leeuwarden  to  Zwolle  is  not  a  very 
cheering  thing  by  rail.  The  country  traversed  is,  for  the  most 
part,  a  desolate  stretch  of  low,  swampy  bog ;  it  is  not  exactly  a 
waste,  as  they  dig  peat  and  turf  there.  There  are  endless  plan- 
tations of  stunted  pines  and  dwarf  beech  and  puny  birch,  and 
fringes  of  sickly  willow  and  trembling  little  aspens,  trenches 
filled  with  rich,  black,  stagnant  water,  showing  beneath  the 
green  slime  upon  it,  here  and  there,  rich  black  or  brown  earth, 
with  a  thin  sprinkling  of  sand  dusted  upon  it.  When  a  way- 
side station  occurred,  however,  even  on  this  plain,  it  turned  out 
to  be  a  good,  well-kept  place.    The  roads  leading  to  and  from  it 


things  of  interest,  we  next  turned  our  steps  in  that 
direction,  innocently  passing  by  places  far  better  for 


1 26 


Prosperity  of  Frieslanci. 


would  be  high  and  broad  and  solid.  They  were,  in  fact,  the 
dikes  between  the  miles  of  soppy  plantations.  The  wood  and 
peat  farmers  lived  back  upon  these  roads,  on  higher  grounds, 
and  were  rich  and  prosperous,  like  most  people  in  Friesland. 
At  the  stations  were  great  piles  of  peat  and  fagots,  and  vans  full 
of  the  fatness  of  the  back  lands.  There  was  nothing  unusual  to 
note  at  these  wayside  stopping-places,  in  the  way  of  costume  or 
character ;  everything  was  serious  and  well-to-do  and  uninterest- 
ing. We  had  plenty  of  time  for  study,  as  we  stopped  at  every 
little  place,  and  there  we  would  wait,  and  back  and  shunt  and 
change,  and  toot  horns  and  let  off  steam,  and  dawdle,  as  if  we 
were  merely  trying  to  kill  time.  It  was  nearly  nightfall  as  we 
ran  into  Zwolle,  the  swamps  and  ditches  and  desolation  follow- 
-  ing  us  to  the  very  gates.  One  moment  the  world  seemed  a 
weedy,  frog-haunted  waste,  and  the  very  next  we  ran  into  the 
bustle  of  a  gas-lighted  station,  thankful  for  the  transition.  The 
omnibus  soon  clattered  us  over  the  stone-paved  streets,  past  a 
shadowy,  towering  "  groote  kerke,"  and  landed  us  at  a  very  old 


ONE  OF  THE  DEAD  CITIES. 


SKETCH  AT  ZWOLLE. 


Inns  and  Outs.  129 

inn,  that  seemed  suffering  the  first  pangs  of  being  galvanized 
back  to  life  and  modernity.  I  wish  they  would  let  the  outer 
shell  alone,  and  only  modernize  some  of  the  adjuncts  of  civiliza- 
tion within  a  little  more.  Just  as  the  hardy  traveller  fared  two 
hundred  years  ago,  so  do  you  fare  to-day  at  certain  old  inns — 
the  joys,  the  comforts,  the  disagreeables,  are  just  about  the  same. 
The  only  thing  almost  universally  added  is  a  billiard-table  in  the 
dining-room.  Travellers  are  fewer  than  in  the  prosperous  old 
days,  and  the  well-to-do  retired  merchants  come  in  to  smoke  and 
play.  The  commercial  voyager  likes  to  smoke  and  play.  The 
diners  are  fewer  and  fewer,  and,  when  they  come,  they  take 
a  side-table,  and  the  smoke  of  many  pipes  and  cigars.  They 
must  take  the  chance  of  the  butt  of  a  cue  helping  down  the 
"  bite  or  sup,"  and  when  the  long-legged  man  leans  far  across 
the  table,  and  counterpoises  the  action  by  a  backward  stretch  of 
boot-heel,  then  must  the  diners  also  have  a  certain  care  against 
tilting  the  head  to  meet  it  as  they  lean  back  to  drain  the  goblet. 
As  the  alcoved  bed  in  our  large  oak-panelled  room  was  a  mere 
detail  not  to  be  observed,  we  had  our  dinner  to  ourselves,  and 
then  sallied  forth  into  the  streets.  We  walked  round  the  silent, 
shadowy  old  church,  peering  into  a  few  of  the  little  open  shops 
about  the  square.  There  were  here  and  there  a  few  bits  of 
"  curios "  left  behind  by  the  sharp  Amsterdam  dealer,  almost, 
but  not  quite,  good  enough  to  want — mostly  patched  and  mend- 
ed things,  and  others  past  mending :  good  little  figures,  but  with- 
out heads  or  hands  or  feet,  good  little  cups  with  a  piece  out, 
and  the  saucer  a  mismatch,  good  little  vases  without  covers, 
and  little  covers  without  vases,  and  dull  marks  of  cement 
painted  over  to  hide  breaks  and  getting  yellow  and  showing 
worse  than  before.  "  Five  florins  only ;  if  it  had  not  this  or 
that,  it  would  be  fifty."  Nothing  to  buy,  and  unwasted  cash 
"  burning  holes  in  our  pockets."    Why  is  it  that  people  will  buy 

9 


130  Domestic  Art  in  Z wo  lie. 

things  abroad  that  they  would  not  look  at  in  London,  and  then 
go  dragging  them  about  the  Continent  with  minds  absorbed  in 
their  preservation  ? 

The  principal  street  of  Zwolle  was  a  large,  well  -  lighted, 
wide  thoroughfare,  with  plate-glass-windowed  shops,  and  there, 
too,  the  goldsmith  and  the  sweetmeat  shops  flourished  apace. 
And  there,  too,  was  the  solution  of  a  certain  mystery — "  What 
becomes  of  all  the  veneered  furniture  and  the  arsenic  wall- 
papers with  wreaths  of  cabbage-roses,  and  the  rugs  with  chro- 
my  landscapes,  and  life-sized  poodles  ?  Who  were  now  buying 
the  scrolly  chiffoniers  and  the  green  rep  parlor  suites  ?  Here 
they  were  in  piles.  The  artistic  craze  had  not  affected  Zwolle. 
Not  a  single  hint  of  Morris,  or  Minton,  or  Eastlake  on  any 
single  thing  in  sight.  The  sale  of  mirrors  with  curly  gold 
frames  seemed  to  be  enormous.  Chromos  were  everywhere. 
Crowds  were  about  shop  windows,  looking  at  chromos  and 
colored  photographs;  crowds  were  walking  in  the  middle  of 
the  roadway  —  merry  and  well- tempered  —  no  male  creature 
without  a  pipe  or  cigar;  but  we  saw  no  interesting  cos- 
tumes. 

The  next  day  we  went  to  see  the  old  church.  We  found 
it  very  vast  and  whited  and  dampish.  There  were  some  good 
old  pews,  and  a  rather  fine  pulpit.  We  were  shown  the  room  in 
which  the  marriage  ceremonies  are  conducted — a  very  fine  old 
room  indeed,  with  furniture  of  the  early  part  of  the  last  century. 
We  were  then  taken  to  the  crypt  to  see  some  carved  stonework, 
but  we  found  something  else,  of  more  interest  to  us.  There 
had  the  koster  established  a  sort  of  furnace -room,  where  he 
dispensed  glowing  peat  charcoal  to  put  in  the  little  foot-warm- 
ers still  used  by  all  womenkind  in  Dutch  churches. 

"  How  much  do  you  put  in  for  a  penny  ?" 

"  Sometimes,  if  the  sermon  is  going  to  be  long,  we  give 


Odorous  A n tiquities. 


good  measure,  but  if  it  is  a  short  sermon  we  only  give  just 
enough  to  last."    (The  old  boy  spoke  English.) 

Hearing  of  a  museum  of  antiquities,  we  soon  found  our 
way  to  it ;  but  not  so  easily  to  the  keeper.  The  old  lady  had 
to  be  sent  for  far  and  wide.    She  evidently  had  very  few  vis- 


THE  OLD  KOSTER. 


itors,  and  seemed  lost  in  wonder  that  she  had  us.  The  place 
was  painfully  clean ;  the  walls  were  as  ghastly  as  whitewash 
could  make  them,  and  the  boards  seemed  wasting  away  under 
constant  scrubbing  ;  but,  oh,  the  long-pent-up  agony  of  impris- 
oned smells  that  wafted  by  as  the  creaky  doors  opened ! 
Wearying  stuffiness  that  was  almost  enough  to  embalm  the  vis- 


132 


We  Need  Fresh  Air. 


itor  if  it  was  inhaled  long  enough.  The  arsenic  seemed  to  ra- 
diate from  the  mangy,  stuffed  wildcats  and  other  beasts,  and 
"  wildcat "  whiskey  seemed  to  ooze  from  the  bottled  vipers  and 
scorpions.  I  need  not  say  that  we  piloted  that  old  lady  at  a 
lively  pace  past  those  fearsome  things,  holding  our  breath 
meanwhile.  Then,  reaching  an  upper  room  where  there  was 
nothing  more  deadly  than  South  Sea  Island  war  implements 
and  dresses,  we  asked  for  the  antiquities.  They  turned  out 
to  be  the  usual  spear-heads  of  flint,  and  fragments  of  Roman 
pottery,  and  crumbling  bronze  daggers,  and  ornaments  going  to 
dust.  These  were  the  proceeds  of  local  diggings,  and  locally 
interesting,  merely.  Then  there  was  a  large,  weird,  rambling 
instrument  of  savage  music  (Borneo,  or  thereabouts);  it  was 
made  of  bamboo  and  straw,  and  when  one  thumped  on  it  vig- 
orously enough  with  a  large  club  it  gave  forth  sounds  to 
soothe  the  untutored  breast,  but  to  the  ordinary  ear  it  was 
enough  to  induce  a  return  to  savagery.  The  old  lady  was 
willing  to  oblige  us  with  a  fugue  on  it ;  but,  oh,  that  embalm- 
ing smell  !  A  few  minutes  more  and  all  would  have  been 
over  with  us :  a  couple  of  lumps  of  camphor  and  a  neat  glass 
case,  a  couple  of  tickets  in  Frisian  and  German,  and  we 
should  have  been  added  to  that  collection.  We  led  the  way 
out  while  consciousness  still  remained. 

"  This  smells  something  like  a  dead  city,  Jacob,  just  about 
here."  When  we  were  a  safe  distance  from  the  museum,  so 
that  we  had  courage  to  sniff,  we  said  this. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  that  worthy,  seriously.  "  Dose  '  dead  city,' 
she  is  very  nice.  You  will  like  dose  city;  bot  you  got  to  go 
on  de  odder  zide  of  de  Zuider  Zee.  You  must  go  back  to 
Amsterdam,  and  take  de  Noord  Holland  Canal.  Of  course 
you  can  cross,  but  dere  is  no  boat;  and  it  dakes  longer,"  etc. 


Too  Much  Civilization. 


133 


WAITING  FOR  THE  FERRY-BOAT. 


"  Take  us  away,  then  ;  these  places  are  too  good  and  flour- 
ishing for  the  simple  likes  of  us." 

The  fact  is,  we  had  been  spoiled  for  this  land  of  propriety 
and  plenty  by  our  previous  revel  in  the  glowing  quaintness 
of  the  Isle  of  Marken. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


NORTHWARD  BY  CANAL. 

IT  was  a  cool,  hazy,  glistening  October  morning  as  we 
steamed  out  of  the  dock  at  Amsterdam  on  board  one  of 
the  boats  that  ply  along  the  North  Holland  Canal.  We 
could  have  gone  much  more  rapidly  by  rail  to  our  destination — 
Alkmaar — but  the  canal  promised  to  be  far  more  picturesque 
and  amusing.  In  fact,  it  was  seriously  mooted  at  one  moment 
that  we  should  go  on  one  of  the  slowly  crawling  little  trek- 
schuyts,  or  passenger  canal-boats,  so  as  to  see  the  country  and 
the  people  more  at  our  leisure ;  but  this  self-sacrifice  was  care- 
fully damped  by  the  Faithful  One  finding  that  the  treks  did  not 
run  very  regularly,  and  that,  when  they  did,  few  people  went  on 
them,  and,  furthermore,  that  if  we  wished  to  crawl  and  "  loafe 
and  invite  our  soul,"  and  be  fully  miserable,  we  should  try  the 
"  diligence  " — not  the  archaic  vehicle  of  old  postilion  days,  but 
a  sordid,  modern  rattletrap  of  an  omnibus.  Nay,  then,  but  the 
steamer  was  the  judicious  middle  course,  and  a  very  nice,  com- 
fortable little  boat  it  was. 

When  we  finally  got  through  the  various  locks  and  impedi- 
ments into  the  canal  itself,  we  soon  saw  that  the  artistic  promise 
of  the  land  would  need  much  careful  looking  after  if  one  would 
have  a  moderate  fulfilment  thereof.  It  is  but  fair  to  say  that 
the  canal  was  evidently  never  intended  to  charm  or  amuse  to 
any  intense  degree,  but  to  be  simple  and  solid  and  direct.  It  is 
no  small,  mean  runnel  of  a  waterway,  but  a  goodly  wide  and  deep 


AN   OSTADE   NOT  TO   BE  FORGOTTEN. 


Landscapes. 


137 


thing  that  a  ship  can  get  about  in  comfortably.  If  one  must 
come  down  to  figures,  I  will  venture  to  say  that  I  fancy  it  is 
some  hundred  and  odd  miles  in  length.  Sufficient  for  the  day, 
however,  was  the  fact  that  it  would  take  us  to  Alkmaar,  and  that 
along  its  rush-fringed  banks  were  pictures  passing  ever  before 
us,  of  trim,  sleepy  villages  and  skirts  of  towns,  fat  farmsteads, 
juicy  pastures,  sleek  cows,  and  rosy-cheeked  milkmaids,  with 
sleeves  rolled  above  elbow- — so  tightly  that  the  lusty  arm  below 
would  be  more  than  rosy,  it  would  be  a  dappled  carnation. 
There  were  the  teeming  polders  and  the  jaunty  windmills,  in 
rich  profusion  and  variety,  and  all  the  familiar  objects  of  a  pleas- 
ant Dutch  landscape.  On  the  forward  deck  of  the  boat  was  a 
goodly  pile  of  market-baskets  and  boxes,  and,  mounting  to  the 
top  of  the  heap,  we  selected  a  soft  basket — first  making  sure 
that  it  didn't  contain  eggs — as  a  point  of  vantage  and  a  sketch- 
ing-seat, and  then  we  remarked  to  the  panorama  before  us,  as 
Byron  did  to  the  ocean,  that  it  might  "  roll  on."  Not  that  we 
felt  unduly  flippant  or  heedless — the  occasion  was  too  serious 
for  that. 

We  were  singularly  blessed  with  just  the  right  kind  of  good 
weather  to  see  Holland  by.  If  it  had  rained  as  it  can  rain  there ! 
How  curiously  adapted  were  all  the  lines  and  objects  of  this 
landscape  to  a  series  of  pictures  of  utter  and  abject  misery  ! 
We  soon  remarked  the  great  difference  between  this  North 
Holland  side  and  the  other,  or  Friesland,  side  of  the  Zuider  Zee. 
There  was  here  more  color  and  variety,  more  irregularity  of 
feature,  more  careless  abundance  and  spontaneity.  It  was  prim 
and  speckless  enough,  goodness  knows,  but  it  was  only  in  com- 
parison with  rectangularly  tilled  Friesland  proper  that  it  seemed 
recklessly  picturesque. 

And  here,  too,  was  the  real,  undoubtedly  original,  Cuyp-like 
atmosphere.    We  seemed  to  be  sailing  out  of  one  big  Cuyp 


1 38  With  Figures, 

straight  into  another,  passing  a  bit  of  Brouwer  or  Teniers  now 
and  again,  where  the  shady  gardens  of  the  little  village  ale- 
houses came  down  to  the  waters  edge.  Surely  Cuyp  must  have 
gone  often  here  for  his  sleek,  rosy  cows,  his  sedgy  meadows,  and 
his  sun-drowned  air.  There  is  the  same  milkmaid,  with  the 
same  white  close  cap,  the  same  collar  and  jacket  and  gown,  I'll 
be  sworn. 

"  They  do  not  die,  nor  change  to  us,  although  they  change." 
The  merry,  liquid-eyed  toss-cup  of  Ostade  and  Teniers,  with  his 
tall  beaker  and  his  portly  gres-de-Flandre  jug,  his  small-bowled, 
thick  -  stemmed  little  pipe,  his  crimson  beret  with  its  cock's 
feather — where  is  he  ?  Alas !  changed  for  a  modern  nonde- 
script that  might  almost  be  Flemish  or  French,  or  from  some 
little,  vague  Netherlandish  settlement — anywhere.  He  generally 
wears,  in  emulation  of  his  French  fellow- workman,  a  kind  of 
regulation  head-gear,  a  fearfully  tall  silk  cap  of  this 
sort  of  build  when  new,  but  when  it  gets  older  and 
has  been  through  a  few  disputes,  as  well  as  through 
wind  and  wet,  it  takes  more  varieties  of  fantastic,  dis- 
reputable, and  abandoned  shapes  than  any  cap  I  ever 

saw.     Not  that 
I  wish  to  overabuse  it.  It 
may  become  "  classic  "  some 
day. 

/  One  generally,  however, 

associates  a  pipe  and  a 
Dutchman  together;  in  fact,  it  is  difficult  to  think  of  one  without 
immediately  thinking  of  the  other.  And  it  is  a  sad  wrench  to 
one's  feelings  to  find  the  pipe  put  out,  and  the  cigar — and  in  a 
perky  cigar-tube,  too,  generally — flourishing  in  its  stead.  It  is  not 
always  the  Ostade-like  skittle-garden  that  one  sees  down  by  the 
water's  edge.    I  grieve  to  say  that  the  bad  imitation  of  a  little 


Material  of  Dutch  Pay  sage.  141 

provincial  French  cafe,  with  its  wiry  little  chairs  and  its  cockety 
little  iron  tables,  and  its  poisonous-looking  bottles  of  absinthe 
and  vermouth,  are  far  too  frequent.  I  would  not  swear  that  we 
saw  more  than  one  such  cafe  the  whole  way,  but  even  that  was 
too  much.  The  farther  north  one  goes  in  Holland  the  more 
one's  attention  is  called  to  the  rapid  increase  of  swirling  orna- 
ment as  a  feature  of  domestic  and  civic  architecture.  Even  on 
the  better  class  of  farm-houses,  and  more  notably  on  the  more 
pretentious  country  villas  skirting  the  canal,  the  gables  are 
fashioned  in  most  fantastic  shapes  of  curve  and  scroll,  and  the 
general  impression  of  riotous  lines  meandering  about  them  is 
further  enhanced  by  startling  effects  of  painting  and  gilding. 
We  touched  at  a  few  of  the  little  docks  and  landing-places  along 
the  waterway,  and  noted  many  delightfully  quaint  bits  of  color, 
as  well  as  lots  of  amusing  characters  and  incidents,  backgrounds 
of  cottages  rich  with  downy,  velvet-surfaced  tiles  and  mottled 
brick,  splashed  with  moss  and  stain  and  lichen,  taking  every  tint 
that  a  fat,  humid  air  knows  so  well  how  to  paint — if  it  has 
plenty  of  time.  The  window-frames  would  be  a  dazzling  white, 
the  curtains  of  spotless  dimity,  the  shutters  and  doors  of  brilliant 
green,  the  cow-sheds  and  outhouses  shiny  with  black  pitch,  and 
often  the  trees  would  have  about  six  feet  of  the  lower  trunk 
painted  a  cheap  sort  of  "forget-me-not"  blue.  Lots  of  flowers, 
plenty  of  flaxen-haired  children  and  blue-eyed  girls,  lots  of  ducks 
and  geese,  and  any  number  of  cats. 

Oh,  it  is  not  at  all  an  unamusing  journey  or  a  weary  one, 
to  the  simple-minded  wayfaring  sketcher  who  can  manage  to 
forget  now  and  then  to  yearn  for  Botticelli  and  the  Infinite. 
We  noticed  the  prevalence  of  female  labor  in  a  "'long-shore" 
sort  of  way  about  the  various  landings.  It  would  be  a  strap- 
ping, rosy  dame,  with  sleeves  well  tucked  up,  who  would  deftly 
catch  the  hawser,  and  bandy  lively  compliments  with  the  deck 


142 


Details. 


hands  of  the  steamer.  They  handled  the  lighter  freight  to  and 
fro,  kicking  about  the  tubs  of  butter,  and  "  shying  "  the  bounding 
.  bullets  of  elastic  Dutch  cheese  in  fine,  manly  style.  They 
gave  themselves  curious  "sea-dog"  kind  of  airs,  too,  that  lent 
them  a  certain  charm  of  their  own.  I  should  never  think  of 
recommending  any  young  lady  to  study  their  little  ways  in 
order  to  shine  in  refined  circles,  but,  at  the  same  time,  any 
young  lady  art  student  of  the  right  stuff  and  fibre  might  do 
worse  than  possess  her  soul  and  her  sketch-book  of  a  few  of 
the  unconscious  and  striking  poses  that  these  female  athletes 
surprise  one  with.  Sometimes  they  are  uncommonly  statu- 
esque in  play  of  line  and  movement. 

"Why  didn't  we  do  it?"  Well,  for  one  thing,  the  boat 
had  to  get  us  on  to  Alkmaar,  and  did  not  wait  long  enough 
except  for  us  to  see  and  admire.  I  would  not  fix  on  a  bust- 
ling, jiggity  steamer  as  the  best  place  in  the  world  to  sketch 
quietly,  although,  if  you  sit  perched  upon  the  taffrail,  the  en- 
terprising looker-on  and  loafer  is  pretty  well  counted  out;  he 
cannot  breathe  in  your  ear  without  the  risk  of  getting  over- 
board. You  have  a  chance  of  this  yourself;  the  position,  be- 
sides, is  strikingly  unbecoming,  especially  for  a  lady  artist.  No 
matter  how  enthusiastic  she  may  be  in  pursuit  of  her  art,  she 
must  be  a  sacrifice  to  the  graces  if  she  sits  on  the  outer  edge 
of  the  rail.  All  things  considered,  it  was  a  very  amusing  run 
that  day  along  the  canal  to  Alkmaar,  and  we  were  even  some- 
what sorry  when  we  came  to  its  picturesque  old  landing-place. 


CHAPTER  X. 


ALKMAAR. 

A NICE  rambling  old  hostelry  is  what  we  want,  Jacob, 
with  courtyard  and  fountain,  with  oaken  stairways, 
and  all  sorts  of  excitements  in  the  way  of  interlaced 
brickwork  and  stone  carvings,  with  mullioned  windows  and 
stained  glass,  if  possible,  or,  at  least,  a  crow -step  gable,  red- 
tiled  roof,  and  a  gold  weathercock.  Do  you  know  of  such  a 
place  ?" 

Jacob  was  seldom  at  a  loss :  if  he  did  not  know,  he  would 
try  to  lay  hold  of  some  one  to  tell  him.  "  I  will  hass  dis  bor- 
ter;  he  will  know  if  such  a  'otel  is  bossible." 

And  he  had  a  long  confabulation  with  a  dazed-looking  old 
man,  who  seemed  to  get  more  dazed  still  as  Jacob  tried  a  free 
sort  of  translation  on  him.  Finally  they  agreed  about  some- 
thing. 

"  Dot  is  all  right  now ;  dese  man  will  schouw  de  way,  and 
so  he  might  joost  so  well  garry  some  of  de  pags."  Simple, 
ingenuous  old  boy! 

The  supplementary  guide  soon  buckled  the  traps  together, 
and,  swinging  them  over  his  back,  led  the  way.  Jacob  could 
now  walk  beside  us  in  the  undimmed  lustre  of  his  diamond 
pin,  and  point  out  all  the  objects  of  interest  that  we  were  look- 
ing at.  The  inn  that  we  were  taken  to  as  our  destination  did 
not  in  the  slightest  degree  come  up  to  our  modest  require- 
ments.    The  translation  must  have  been  tampered  with  be- 


144 


Beds. 


tween  Jacob  and  the  hazy  porter.  However,  it  had  the  nega- 
tive merit  of  being  so  entirely  and  utterly  opposite  to  the 
picture  we  drew  in  our  minds  that  it  came  like  a  surprise.  We 
wanted  an  ideal  hotel,  and  this  was  only  realistic.  It  was  a 
shock ;  but,  as  it  was  airy  and  clean  and  inviting,  we  were 
willingly  lured  in.  There  might  be  certain  advantages,  after 
all.  Did  we  not  still  sadly  remember  a  restless  night  passed 
in  "hunting  the  slipper"  in  just  such  a  romantic  old  inn  as 
we  pictured  to  Jacob  ? 

Everything  here  was  as  brilliantly  polished  and  as  frantically 
scrubbed  as  if  it  were  a  show  place  in  Broek.  The  beds  were 
rather  primitive,  not  to  say  quaint.  Imagine  a  large  oaken 
chest,  with  the  lid  off,  made  into  a  "  four-poster "  by  means  of 
tall,  slim  uprights  at  each  corner,  supporting  a  canopy  and  cur- 
tains of  blue  check  muslin.  It  is  nice  and  snug  when,  after 
rasping  your  shins  over  the  edge,  you  finally  do  tuck  yourself 
away  for  the  night.  It  takes  much  to  dismay  an  old  traveller 
who  goes  about  with  a  wide  experience  of  all  sorts  and  condi- 
tions of  beds  in  all  sorts  of  strange  places.  What  a  delightful 
paper  might  be  written  by  an  old  campaigner  on  the  various 
strange  "  by-bys  "  that  he  has  gone  to  in  his  time  !  Smoth- 
ered in  a  great  affair  of  feathers  and  down,  with  canopy  of 
silken  embroideries  and  pillows  edged  with  Spanish  lace — the 
grand  old  carven  bed  of  state.  Once  or  twice  in  one's  life  is 
enough  for  that  luxury,  with  its  semi -asphyxiation.  The  bed 
of  sweet  hay  or  straw  at  a  wayside  mountain  hut  is  a  more 
pjeasant  memory.  A  bed  of  fragrant  pine-boughs  or  ferns,  in 
a  forest  shanty,  or,  for  want  of  the  shanty  sometimes,  sous  les 
belles  etoiles,  on  a  summer  night,  is  not  so  bad  a  thing.  A 
billiard  -  table  in  an  overcrowded  hotel,  even  with  a  railway 
rug  around  one,  is  apt  to  "  slate  "  the  sleeper  before  morning ; 
and  four  chairs,  with  a  coat  rolled  up  for  a  pillow,  is  a  shifty 


Cheese. 


145 


and  unsteady  resting-place  ;  it  generally  finds  you  on  the  floor, 
either  suddenly  by  accident  or  deliberately  by  choice,  before 
morning.  Therefore  I  repeat  that  this  pathetic  little  snuggery 
had  rather  a  charm  about  it.  We  will  return  to  it  anon.  It 
was  only  early  afternoon,  and  we  did  not  retire  to  it  just  then. 
After  a  general  survey  of  the  little  inn,  we  strolled  out  to  see 
the  town.  Now,  Alkmaar  is  anything  but  a  dead  city,  nor  is 
it  on  the  Zuider  Zee.  It  is  a  very  busy  and  bustling  and 
cheesy  place.  In  fact,  it  is  the  principal  market-town  for  but- 
ter and  cheese  —  more  especially  cheese  —  in  North  Holland. 
I  won't  venture  to  say  just  how  many  millions  they  roll  out  in 
a  year.  Jacob  did  say,  but  we  never  could  get  him  to  observe 
the  nice  distinction  between  so  many  pounds  and  so  many 
cheeses.  The  figures,  therefore,  would  lack  interest  to  the  sta- 
tistical person. 

There  was  to  be  the  weekly  market  on  the  morrow,  and  we 
should  not  only  have  an  opportunity  of  forming  some  notion  of 
what  a  large  town  gorged  with  cheese  looks  like,  and  smells 
like,  but  we  should  see  all  the  picturesqueness  of  the  surround- 
ing country  got  together  in  one  mass  in  that  fine  old  Market 
Square. 

Jacob  was  invaluable  for  getting  us  into  the  thick  of  every 
fair  and  marketing,  not  to  mention  an  occasional  kermesse  and 
other  enlivenments.  Already,  in  the  various  shops  and  restau- 
rants around  the  market-place,  could  be  seen  preparations  for 
the  morrow :  barrels  of  beer  were  being  rolled  in,  piles  of  prov- 
ender, vegetable  and  animal,  were  being  massed  together  into 
a  sort  of  barricade  against  the  coming  invasion  of  hunger  and 
thirst — especially  thirst.  The  fatted  calf  was  being  cut  up  for 
the  behoof  of  the  prodigal  peasant  —  father  and  son.  Jacob 
the  prudent  reminded  us  that  it  was  a  good  thing  for  us  that 
our  hotel  was  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  festivities  of  the  mor- 

10 


146 


Cake. 


row.  "  Dese  tarn  farmer  what  py  an'  sell  de  sheese,  dey  make 
so  much  money  dey  pring  deir  wife  and  dorter  to  py  shewelry 
and  eat  sweet  cookies  and  candies  all  day  long;  dey  will  eat 
up  all  dese  stuff"  —  taking  in  the  surrounding  provender  with 
one  comprehensive  wave  of  the  hand — "yes,  and  more  as  dis 
too.  But  never  you  mind,  we  are  all  zafe  where  we  are;  dey 
won't  go  dere."  We  breathed  more  freely,  and  proceeded  to 
get  a  realizing  sense  of  the  quaint  old  Market  Square  about 
us.  The  sacred  temple  of  the  place  is  the  great  weighing- 
house  for  the  cheese  and  butter,  built  in  the  liberal  and  florid 
time  of  the  early  sixteenth  century ;  it  testifies  amply  to  the 
flourishing  state  of  the  cheese  industry  at  Alkmaar  during  that 
prosperous  period.  The  very  architecture  of  the  building  is 
the  most  fat  and  riotous  in  the  way  of  scrolls  and  figures  and 
carved  tablets  that  one  could  well  find  even  in  North  Holland. 
The  old  houses  around  the  "  Scale-house  "  were  mostly  of  the 
same  period,  and  all  more  or  less  elaborate  in  varied  brickwork 
and  stone  carvings.  The  old  shops  seemed  to  have  the  same 
way  of  displaying  their  wares  that  they  had  in  the  Middle 
Ages. 

We  were  especially  attracted  by  a  cake -baker's  shop-front 
(not  in  the  square,  but  just  out  of  it,  down  by  the  canal).  We 
were  not  drawn  by  the  toothsomeness  of  the  gorgeous  array  of 
baked  "imagery"  in  gingerbread  —  for  it  gave  one  a  pain  in 
the  maxillary  regions  to  look  at  them  —  but  by  the  curious  ar- 
chaic designs  of  these  survivals  of  /£w/£-backers'  art  of  two  or 
three  hundred  years  ago.  Great  effigies  in  every  shade  of  golden 
brown,  in  every  genre  of  the  art ;  historical  portraits,  animal, 
domestic,  and  marine  subjects— there  they  were  in  great  piles ; 
but  in  every  instance  the  art  stopped  short,  not  "  in  the  culti- 
vated court  of  the  Empress  Josephine,"  but  much  earlier.  The 
moulds  must  have  cost  a  goodly  sum  to  cut  in  their  time,  and, 


A  rchaic  Gingerbread. 


147 


when  once  done,  the  baker's  art,  for  economy's  sake,  became 
strictly  conservative  and  conventional.  All  the  little  cakey 
men  wore  doublet  and  hose,  and  broad  cap  and  feather,  all  the 
little  women  were  in  ruff  and  farthingale  and  high  -  heeled 
shoon,  and  all  so  correct  that  one  might  collect  them  as  author- 
ities on  costume.  Some  of  the  very  large  and  archaic  cakes 
looked  uncommonly  like  old  "  brasses "  from  some  cathedral 
floor,  so  severe  and  so  correct  in  detail  were  they.  And  then 
the  ships !  great  three-deckers,  like  those  of  the  Spanish  Arma- 
da. The  horse  was  the  many -curved  prancer  of  the  breed  pe- 
culiar to  the  heroic  monument.  Of  course,  we  were  not  per- 
mitted to  carry  on  our  archaic  investigations  in  peace  outside 
the  baker's  window.  Jacob  lent  his  allurements  to  those  of  the 
rosy,  buxom  baker's  daughter,  and  we  soon  found  ourselves  in- 
vesting in  a  colossal  effigy  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  a  four- 
decked  war  ship,  and  a  good -sized  Roman  steed.  These  we 
gave  to  Jacob  to  carry  for  us  carefully.  They  were  not  wrapped 
up  at  all,  and  as  we  passed  through  the  crowded  market-place 
we  soon  became  the  centre  of  idle  observation  and  irrelevant 
remark.  Poor  old  Jacob  was  at  once  the  sport  of  the  ruthless 
gamin,  and  the  mock  of  the  merry-hearted  sailor. 

As  we  neared  a  more  secluded  spot  he  ruefully  remarked : 
"  Now,  don't  you  t'ink  we  might  eat  some  of  dese  ship,  or  some 
horse,  maybe  ?    Dese  tarn  poy,  dey  'give  one  no  beace." 

"  All  right,  Jacob.  Give  us  a  leg  or  a  tail  of  the  beast,  and 
help  yourself  to  the  mainsail  of  the  ship,  unless  you  think  it 
better  to  wait  until  we  get  to  the  hotel ;  then  we  can  divide 
fairly  all  round.  Those  very  pretty  chambermaids  would  like 
some,  perhaps." 

There  would  have  been  little  left  of  the  effigies  if  Jacob 
had  not  got  a  newspaper  to  conceal  them  from  the  passing 
boy;  and,  as  it  was,  he  had  so  embossed  himself  with  sticky 


148 


The  Cheese  Farmers. 


frigate  and  charger  on  various  parts  of  his  clothing  that  he  had 
to  be  scraped  down  by  the  sympathetic  chambermaids  when 
we  returned  to  the  inn.  I  don't  remember  the  exact  fate  of  the 
archaic  gingerbread.  We  never  saw  it  again.  The  Faithful 
One  and  several  of  the  inn  servants  looked  rather  poorly  the 
next  day.  I  only  know  that  Jacob  never  bothered  us  to  buy 
any  more  effigies.  In  the  evening  wre  went  to  a  quaint,  little, 
old  tavern  in  the  market-place — a  hostelry  much  frequented  by 
the  cheese -dealers.  It  was  here,  over  or  after  their  bargains, 
that  much  lubricating  fluid  in  the  way  of  schnapps  and  beer 
passed  across  the  little  polished  tables.  Around  the  room  were 
a  lot  of  little  cupboards,  each  numbered,  and  with  its  lock  and 
key.  Jacob  got  permission  to  open  one  of  these.  "  Here  you  are  ! 
You  see  dese  t'ings.  Every  one  of  dose  cheese  farmer  has  got 
his  own  glass,  his  own  bipe,  his  own  tobacco,  and  dese  is  his 
bottle ;  and  every  dime  he  make  his  goot  bizness  dey  come  in 
here,  and  den — "  Jacob's  eye  twinkled  a  suggestion  of  plenteous 
libation.  "  Oh,  I  assure  you,  dey  is  sblendid  fellows,  macknifi- 
cend  fellows,  what  zell  de  cheese  here !  You  see  dose  fellow 
do-morrow."  We,  in  a  roundabout  sort  of  a  way,  asked  each 
other  if  there  might  not  haply  be  some  more  refined  and  ele- 
vated manner  of  seeing  Alkmaar — something  higher  than  gin- 
gerbread and  cheese  to  seek  out,  in  fact.  There  was  a  mu- 
seum, but  we  fought  shy  of  such  delights  after  the  arsenical  air 
of  the  one  at  Zwolle.  There  was  a  town-hall,  with  dusty  ar- 
chives, but  we  did  not  read  ancient  Dutch  with  fluency.  There 
was  a  fine  old  church.  We  would  go  to  the  old  church  in  the 
morning,  so  as  to  save  our  aesthetic  consciences.  For  the  rest, 
we  were  enjoying  the  color  and  life  and  quaintness  and  even 
the  fatness  of  the  capital  of  Cheeseland.  There  is  a  curi- 
ous chapter  about  Alkmaar  in  D'Amici's  book  on  Holland. 
D'Amici  is  an  Italian  traveller,  who  goes  about  with  deadly 


CHURCH  PORCH  IN  ALKMAAR. 


Troubles  of  an  A utkor.  1 5  1 

serious  motives  in  the  way  of  facts  and  figures,  and  all  he  has 
to  record  of  this  place  is  the  fact  that  he  arrived  during  the 
wildest  powwow  of  the  "  kermesse ;"  and  not  being  able  to 
speak  a  word  of  Dutch,  or  make  the  people  about  him  under- 
stand Italian  or  French,  he  had  a  most  tremendous  difficulty 
to  find  his  way  to  a  hotel,  or  to  get  a  room  when  he  arrived 
there.  Not  being  able  to  command  a  dinner  or  to  hear  himself 
think,  let  alone  speak,  for  the  pandemonium  of  the  fair,  he  re- 
solved to  beat  a  retreat.  He  could  not  make  this  wish  under- 
stood either,  although  he  hit  upon  the  happy  device  of  imitat- 
ing a  railway  train,  thinking  that  this  would  at  once  appeal  to 
the  most  obscure  intelligence,  and  be  the  means  of  taking  him 
back  to  the  station.  They  only  thought  him  some  escaped  lu- 
natic. He  finally  seized  his  travelling-bag  and  fled  from  the 
hotel,  and  somehow  managed  to  find  his  way  to  the  train.  It 
was  very  droll ;  but,  after  all,  for  a  serious  collector  of  facts 
and  figures,  it  was  a  curiously  incomplete  sketch  of  Alkmaar. 
He  bitterly  blamed  the  untutored  minds  of  this  remote  spot  for 
not  knowing  languages,  or,  at  least,  decent  pantomime.  He 
came  by  boat,  and  wanted  to  go  back  by  train.  Now,  given 
that  to  convey  as  a  light  pantomimic  exercise,  I  don't  call  it 
easy,  or  the  people  stupid  who  do  not  catch  it  the  first  time 
(in  real  life).  I  have  seen  a  scanty-skirted  maiden  in  a  ballet 
come  tripping  in,  and  then  point  one  toe  slowly  and  solemnly 
to  heaven,  rocking  her  smiling  face  on  clasped  hands  to  express 
hunger  and  fatigue.  She  was  at  once  understood  by  those 
about  her,  for  on  that  desert  isle  they  produced  a  neatly  spread 
table  loaded  down  with  pasteboard  delicacies  and  tinselled  gob- 
lets. But  that  was  the  ideal.  The  poor  Italian  wanderer  had 
to  face  a  sad  problem  in  realism. 

We,  fortunately,  had  no  such  pantomimic  problems  to  face. 
We  had  only  to  wait  for  the  morrow  and  market-day.  The 


1 5  2  The  Carnival  de  Fromage. 

fun  was  in  full  force  when  we  reached  the  scene  of  action  next 
morning.  The  very  air  seemed  teeming  with  cheeses.  They 
looked  like  great  golden  apples,  or,  rather,  like  something  between 
a  very  large  apple  and  a  small  pumpkin.  They  are  very  elastic 
and  slippery  too,  when  new,  and  these  were  all  very  new,  and  evi- 
dently suffering  from  nervous  excitement,  judging  from  the  state 
of  "  quiver "  they  all  seemed  to  be  in.  The  market-place  was 
filled  with  great,  high  wagon-loads  of  them,  and  frantic  peasants 
tossing  them  down  to  the  porters,  who  were  "shying"  them 
madly  about  here  and  there,  to  and  fro,  until  it  looked  like  some 
insane  jugglery  practice.  It  was  no  joke  to  walk  calmly  about 
during  these  manoeuvres ;  there  was  a  tolerable  chance  of  a 
stray  shot  with  one  of  these  balls  of  concentrated  indigestion. 
Fatal  error  to  try  and  dodge  them.  Sure  to  be  hit.  Keep 
your  course,  and  the  pitchers  and  tossers  allow  for  you  and  a 
rational  amount  of  headway.  But,  of  course,  they  cannot  allow 
for  eccentric  dodging.  There  is  much  demented  shouting,  and 
a  seemingly  absurd  amount  of  hand -shaking.  This  is  apt  to 
mislead  the  stranger.  It  is  no  merely  sentimental  meeting  or 
parting,  but  the  usual  cementing  grasp  of  a  final  bargain. 
Then  the  cheeses  go  merrily  by,  piled  high  on  hand-barrows, 
to  the  great  weigh-house,  to  be  scaled.  The  porters  are  a  race 
apart.  It  is  no  small  job  to  carry  about  three  or  four  hundred- 
weight of  dodgy  and  elusive  balls,- piled  up  on  a  hand-barrow, 
without  spilling  them.  The  porters  have  a  curious,  scuffling, 
shambling  way  of  gliding  over  the  ground.  The  arms  are  out- 
spread, partly  for  balance,  partly  to  ward  off  colliders.  Every 
scale  in  the  weigh-house  is  painted  some  distinguishing  color, 
or  arrangement  of  colors,  and  each  set  of  porters  has  painted 
hats  and  badges  of  the  corresponding  tint ;  and  as  there  are 
many  scales,  so  does  it  come  to  pass  that  the  whole  scene  looks 
like  a  wild  revel  of  all  the  most  positive  and  crude  colors  out 


More  Cheese.  153 

of  the  rainbow.  The  barrow  is  slung  across  the  shoulders  by 
straps,  and,  as  they  do  not  touch  their  hands  to  it  to  steady  it, 
the  slightest  concussion  is  enough  to  bring  down  the  slippery 
pyramid  with  a  run. 

We  saw  a  small  and  heedless  boy  manage  to  run  full  tilt 
against  a  pair  of  these  carriers,  and  every  golden  sphere  of 
bounding  cheese  went  flying  to  the  four  winds.  The  unhappy 
urchin  was  not  cuffed  nor  even  vilified,  nor  did  they  speak  un- 
kindly of  his  parents ;  the  crowd  simply  paused  in  mad  career, 
and  set  to  work  to  pursue  and  bring  back  the  fugitives,  and  no 
one  seemed  to  think  himself  or  herself  too  busy  or  too  grand 
to  lend  an  obliging  hand  to  restore  them,  or  even  the  obliging 
apron  or  coat  sleeve  to  polish  off  the  dust  from  the  grimed  sur- 
face before  they  helped  to  pile  them  back  on  the  barrow.  The 
unlucky  boy  seemed  to  be  rather  sympathized  with,  and  even  to 
be  looked  upon  as  a  mild  sort  of  martyr.  I  was  surprised  that 
nobody  kissed  him.  We  noticed  that  children  are  invariably 
"  made  much  of  "  in  the  way  of  kindly  and  indulgent  treatment 
all  over  Holland.  When  we  found  the  cheese  carnival  rather  pall 
upon  us,  we  sought  other  scenes,  but  it  was  difficult  to  get  en- 
tirely away  from  it ;  something  would  turn  up  to  show  how 
deep  and  wide  its  interests  were  in  Alkmaar.  Along  the  quays 
were  numbers  of  vessels  loading  with  all  sorts  of  it,  to  all  parts 
of  the  globe,  wherever  the  least  scrap  of  digestion  remains  in- 
tact. The  quaint  old  warehouses  along  the  docks  had  nearly 
all  stone  tablets,  showing  that  for  two  hundred  years  or  so  they 
had  identified  themselves  with  this  one  industry.  From  the 
upper  stories  of  these  cheeseries  were  long  wooden  gutters 
leading  to  the  ships  in  dock,  and  along  these  troughs  trickled 
a  never-ceasing  rill  of  the  ripened  and  matured  article,  now  a 
brilliant  crimson — the  final  tint  it  comes  to  when  ready  for  the 
^  far-off  dyspeptic.    There  are  many  things  worthy  of  interest  in 


154 


Soapsuds  a?id  Pipeclay. 


Alkmaar  in  the  way  of  old  buildings.  Some  of  the  well-pre- 
served old  shops  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  are 
well  worth  seeing.  The  town-hall  is  good  from  the  outside — 
we  did  not  go  in.  The  "  Groote  Kirke  "  is  an  immense  thing, 
showing  what  a  considerable  place  Alkmaar  must  have  been 
a  few  hundred  years  ago.  It  was  sadly  silent  and  whitewashed 
and  fusty  the  day  we  saw  it.  There  is  always  a  smell  of  soap- 
suds and  damp  pipe-clay  about  Dutch  churches.  They  evident- 
ly believe  thoroughly  in  the  precept  that  "  cleanliness  is  next  to 
godliness." 


JETSAM. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HOORN  AND  EDAM. 

THERE  was  much  to  see  and  enjoy  still  remaining,  but 
we  were  anxious  to  push  on  to  Hoorn,  to  see  what  a 
really  dead  city  might  be  like.  So  we  decided  to 
drive  at  our  "  ain  gait "  the  few  miles  between  the  two  towns. 
We  preferred  always  to  drive  if  we  could  manage  it,  as  in  that 
way  we  could  more  thoroughly  see  the  country.  Many  enter- 
prising souls,  with  lots  of  time  to  spare,  would  have  walked,  or 
bicycled,  or  canoed,  or  have  "  trekked,"  but  we  were  much  more 
simple  in  our  tastes ;  besides,  we  found  it  the  best  thing  to  do. 

The  landlord  of  the  Alkmaar  hotel  was  rather  sportive  in 
his  tastes,  and  when  we  made  application  for  a  "trap"  of  the 
usual  funereal  sort,  he  stated,  to  our  great  delight,  that  he  was 
going  to  drive  us  over  himself  to  Hoorn,  behind  his  own  person- 
al "  steppers."  There  is  a  good  bit  of  latent  horsiness  in  the 
Dutch  character.  They  have  a  certain  species  of  racing  which 
they  designate  by  the  suggestive  term  of  "  hard-driverij  "  (the 
final  j  is  pronounced  between  i  and  y,  somehow  making  it  very 
fair  English).  We  did  not  see  any  of  the  races,  but  if  those 
horses  of  which  we  had  experience  were  supposed  to  be  very 
fast,  I  must  say  that  racing  is  still  in  a  primitive  stage  of 
development  in  the  Low  Countries.  But  he  was  a  fine  good 
fellow,  the  host,  and  as  we  bowled  merrily  along  the  well-paved 
road,  passing  all  the  lumbering  market- carts,  and  even  the 
sprucer  kind  of  farmers'  wagons  —  generally  filled  with  the 


158  Festivity  in  Hoorn. 

gayly  attired  womenkind  going  home  all  the  richer  and  jol- 
lier from  the  market — there  was  plenty  of  flying  shot  of  ban- 
ter and  rich  badinage  between  our  popular  landlord  and  his 
country  friends. 

The  road  itself  was  interesting  enough.  There  was  the 
usual  fringe  of  plane  and  poplar  trees  on  either  side,  the  well- 
kept  farms,  the  prim  little  villages — some  of  them,  lying  down 
below  in  rich  polders,  being  of  more  modern  date,  and  look- 
ing as  if  the  whole  community  had  agreed  to  build  them  at 
once  and  for  all  time,  and  be  done  with  it  —  model  villages, 
in  fact,  from  the  toy- box  little  church  to  the  toy-box  little 
pig-sty,  all  turned  out  of  the  same  mill.  The  trees  about  the 
farmsteads  were  mostly  blue-washed  up  the  trunk  to  where  the 
branches  began.  This  was  partly  to  relieve  the  Dutch  craving 
to  "  decorate  "  right  and  left,  and  partly  to  preserve  the  tree,  in 
some  way,  from  its  enemies.  This  lively  road  was  still  more  en- 
livened on  this  day  by  the  constant  coming  and  going  of  the 
picturesque  market-people  and  their  gayly  painted  and  gilded 
carts.  The  costume,  too,  is  full  of  color  and  quaintness  of 
fashion.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  gold-plate  about  the  head- 
gear of  the  women.  Some  of  the  very  well-to-do  wear  the  finest 
Brussels  lace  in  their  cap-trimmings,  and  often  the  blade  of  gold 
that  half  hides  the  brow  is  thickly  studded  with  diamonds.  Dia- 
mond ear-rings,  too,  often  flash  and  career  in  the  sunlight  as 
they  drive  by.  These,  with  gayly -patterned  shawls  and  rib- 
bons, and  the  rich,  fresh  complexions  of  the  buxom  wearers, 
make  much  play  of  amusing  form  and  color.  When  we  finally 
reached  Hoorn  it  was  still  early  afternoon,  and,  to  our  partial 
disappointment,  there  was  a  sort  of  market-day  going  on  there, 
and  the  place  seemed  to  get  livelier  and  brighter  and  noisier  as 
we  proceeded.  Confound  this  scene  of  unhallowed  festivity ! 
Are  we  never  to  get  to  a  mouldering  and  grass-grown  city  ? 


The  Doe lan  Inn, 


159 


The  old  Doelan  Inn  to  which  we  drove  was  the  very  ideal 
place  that  we  wished  to  go  to  at  Alkmaar.  We  had  forgotten 
to  wish  for  or  expect  it  again,  and  here  it  came  on  us  unawares. 
The  inn-yard  had  been  a  spacious  garden  in  olden  days,  with 
great  gates  leading  down  to  the  water.  The  lovely  old  brick 
walls  must  have  cost  a  fortune  to  build  in  their  day.  There  was 
the  iron  date  upon  the  gable  of  the  house,  1646,  and  all  about, 
on  tablets  over  gate  and  door  ways,  were  the  city  arms — the 
hunter's  horn,  supported  by  heraldic  animals,  deer  or  cows,  one 
could  not  determine  which,  they  had  been  so  knocked  about. 
The  inn-yard  was  crowded  with  the  high-backed  farmers'  chariots, 
carven  and  painted,  also  the  humble  market-cart,  with  loads  of 
pigs  and  geese,  dead  and  alive,  mostly  the  latter,  and  "  concert- 
izing "  horribly.  We  were  fascinated  with  the  more  elaborate 
vehicles.  They  were  a  weird  survival  of  the  sumptuous  past, 
the  age  of  pure  rococo..  The  panels  were  decorated  with  every 
variety  of  design — landscape,  flowers,  and  fruit,  with  here  and 
there  creatures  that  looked  like  the 

"  Pigs,  bulls,  and  panthers,  and  other  enchanthers, 
That  graced  the  pavilion  in  swate  Pimlico." 

The  house,  or,  rather,  mansion,  had  evidently  been  some- 
thing better  than  an  inn  when  it  was  first  built.  There  were 
wide  stairways  of  oak,  carved  oak  hand-rails,  panelled  wainscots 
and  elaborate  ceilings,  and  brass  sconces  and  lanterns  and  brack- 
ets, that  shone  like  gold.  The  oaken  doors  were  polished  like 
ebony  and  black  with  age.  Down  in  the  smaller  of  the  par- 
lors we  ordered  our  "  five-o'clock  tea."  It  was  worth  while  to 
have  it,  just  to  see  how  quaintly  and  perfectly  they  did  it.  It  was 
like  some  pious  rite.  The  fresh,  pink-looking  hostess  was  hav- 
ing her  own  personal  tea  at  her  own  little  table,  and  everything 
was  a  picture  of  cosiness.  A  fine,  healthy  young  maid-servant 
was  polishing  a  small  round  table  with  all  her  concentrated 


i6o 


Dignified  Decadence. 


heart  and  soul.  Good !  We  should  now  see  how  it  was  done. 
To  begin  with,  it  was  a  fine  old  mahogany  top,  and  it  was  even 
then  glowing  with  that  deep,  rich  radiance  that  only  rewards  pa- 
tient years  of  elbow-grease.  She  had  a  peculiarly  aggressive 
caress  with  that  chamois  leather,  that  seemed  to  make  the  top 
sing  again.  The  good  landlady  beamed  upon  this  labor  of  love 
encouragingly,  but  finally  she  remonstrated : 

"  My  dear  girl,  there,  that  will  do !  No,  but,  really,  do  leave 
off!" 

She  was  loath  to  give  it  up,  but  soon  our  tea  battery  came 
in,  and  she  was  forced  to  surrender  the  table  for  our  use.  The 
first  instruments  of  the  aforesaid  battery  looked  like  prepara- 
tions for  scrubbing  the  floor.  A  large  brass-bound  copper  pail 
contained  a  brazier  filled  with  glowing  peat  charcoal,  and  on 
this  the  most  glowing  of  golden-looking  kettles.  The  tea-sets 
are  now  and  then  of  goodish  old  blue-and-white,  and  the  herb 
itself  is  of  that  kind  that  Holland  rather  prides  itself  on.  This, 
with  a  kindly  sense  of  welcome,  even  from  the  great,  purring, 
friendly  cats,  made  the  five  o'clock  hour  pass  very  pleasantly. 
There  was  a  nice  long  prowl  of  investigation  in  prospect,  so 
we  did  not  dally  long,  but  soon  put  the  worthy  Jacob  in  motion 
townward. 

"  Dere  is  not  much  to  zee  here ;  dey  'ave  joost  puild  dem- 
selves  a  new  parrack,  where  de  sodjers  live.  Will  you  see  dot  ? 
No  ?  Well,  we  will  go  and  zee  de  old  town-gates,  de  water- 
gate,  and  de  shops." 

Hoorn  is  simply  a  jewel  of  a  place.  It  seems  to  have  grown 
old  and  poor  in  a  calm  and  dignified  way.  It  was  still  prim  and 
starched  and  scrupulously  clean,  like  some  little,  immaculate, 
white-haired  old  lady,  to  whom  Fortune  has  played  the  runaway. 
There  are  many  well-kept  vestiges  of  her  former  stateliness 
piously  preserved.    There  is  no  rack  along  with  the  ruin ;  no 


Naval  Glories. 


161 


grim  despair  with  the  change  of  luck.  They  don't  let  the  grass 
grow  in  the  streets  so  long  as  they  can  prevent  it.  If  you 
stroll  out  in  some  of  the  less-frequented  parts  in  early  morning, 
you  will  see  a  bevy  of  women,  young  and  old,  sitting  on  little, 
low  stools,  or  kneeling  on  folded  sacks,  picking  out  the  grass 
and  herbage  from  between  the  stones  of  the  street  and  quays. 
It  is  all  so  orderly,  and  they  look  so  neat  and  prim,  that  their 
efforts  look  more  like  eccentric  and  misdirected  amateur  gar- 
dening than  anything  else.  There  is  no  doubt  that,  at  one 
time,  Hoorn  was  a  wealthy  and  thriving  city,  with  powerful 
guilds  of  merchant  adventurers,  to  send  its  active  fleets  all  the 
world  over.  This  was  the  home  of  the  Dutch  captain  (Wouter 
Cornelisz  Schouten)  who  first  rounded  that  very  draughty  prom- 
ontory, Cape  Horn.  He  called  it  Hoorn,  after  his  native  town, 
and  more  people  have  called  it  evil  names  since  than  have  spo- 
ken uncivil  things  of  its  quiet,  sleepy  old  godmother.  It  was 
also  out  of  this  now  weedy  harbor  that  the  valiant  little  fleet 
sailed  to  face  the  mighty,  haughty  Spanish  war-ships  under  the 
terrible  Admiral  Count  Bossu,  so  cocksure  of  carrying  all  before 
him  if  he  once  got  into  the  Zuider  Zee.  The  little,  now  half- 
forgotten,  ports  of  Hoorn,  Enkhuysen,  and  Monnickendam,  how- 
ever, soon  sent  such  a  swarm  of  waspish  fire-ships  and  gunboats 
about  the  Spanish  admiral's  ears  that,  by  nightfall,  he  would 
have  given  something  very  handsome  if  he  had  not  found  out 
that  snug  back  way  into  the  Zuider  Zee  trap.  The  three  towns 
divided  the  honors  and  spoils  of  the  victory.  Hoorn  has  his 
gold  cup,  Monnickendam  boasts  of  his  dagger,  and  at  Enkhuy- 
sen his  sword  is  preserved  with  pious  care. 

Since  those  palmy  days  of  war,  and  the  more  paying  victo- 
ries of  commerce,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Hoorn  has  sorely  felt 
the  buffets  of  changing  fortune.  It  has  known  the  bitterness 
of  seeing  its  commerce  diverted  to  new  channels;  it  has  seen 

1 1 


Architectural  Attractions. 


Amsterdam  and  Rotterdam  fatten  on  its  lost  substance ;  it  has 
watched  its  lonely  neighboring  rivals  dwindle  with  itself,  until  all 
feelings  of  rivalry  were  changed  to  sympathy  and  fellowship  in  a 
common  misfortune.  Still,  after  many  long,  dull  years  of  partial 
paralysis,  life  is  again  stirring  in  its  veins.  Even  within  a  few 
years  there  is  a  marked  revival  of  trade  and  cheerfulness.  The 
great  East  Indiaman  can  no  longer  get  over  the  silted-up  harbor 
bar,  and  it  would  have  no  need  to,  if  it  could ;  but  the  fussy  lit- 
tle steamers  of  the  Zuider  Zee  run  in  and  out  freely,  and  take 
away  much  fat  of  the  rich  land  still  flourishing  thereabout. 
Flocks  of  sheep,  mountains  of  butter  and  cheese,  droves  of 
plump  cattle,  still  go  from  Hoorn  to  the  ever-hungry  ends  of  the 
earth.  You  will  see  many  fine  old  houses  untenanted,  and  going 
to  silent,  respectable  decay.  The  placards,  informing  the  heed- 
less that  they  are  to  sell  or  let,  are  long  since  mouldy  with  an- 
tiquity. So  do  you  see,  here  and  there,  a  once  fine  mansion 
now  gone  to  some  base  use — the  storing  of  coals  or  plaster  or 
manure ;  but  such  things  will  happen  in  thriving  places  like 
Dort  and  Haarlem.  There  are  one  or  two  of  the  old  city  gates 
still  standing,  and  they  are  more  proud  and  protectful  of  them 
than  in  most  Dutch  towns.  The  old  city  walls  have  long  since 
been  levelled,  and  many  of  the  canals  filled  in.  It  may  be 
sad,  but  the  place  is,  no  doubt,  the  sweeter  and  cleaner  for 
it.  There  are  many  old  houses  to  interest  the  architect,  and 
delight  the  eye  of  the  mere  sketcher  of  the  picturesque.  That 
is  about  all.  The  vague,  excitement-seeking  person  would  per- 
ish of  ennui  very  shortly  in  any  of  the  Dutch  "  dead  cities." 
We  made  many  sketches  about  our  inn,  which  was  a  very 
mine  of  wealth  to  us,  besides  being  very  comfortable  and  home- 
like. The  inn-yard  alone  would  keep  one's  pencil  busy  for  a 
week,  and  then  there  would  still  be  lots  to  do  among  the  ever 
coming  and  going  groups  of  peasant  people.    There  is  just  the 


A  Drawing- Lesson. 


165 


same  unquenchable  interest  here  as  elsewhere  in  Holland  in  the 
doings  of  the  sketcher.  We  were  busy  with  a  drawing  of  the 
outer  carved  gate  of  the  inn-yard,  when  we  soon  found  ourselves 
surrounded  by  an  entire  school  of  uniformed  boys,  teachers  and 
all.  Some  dozen  were  overleaping  each  other  to  get  a  sight 
of  our  wTork ;  Jacob  and  the  ushers  were  conversing  like  old 
cronies,  and  interchanging  snuff.  The  boys  got  excited  when  a 
bit  of  drawing  pleased  them,  and  they  also  got  critical  when 
it  didn't ;  finally,  they  got  tiresome  and  unenjoyable.  "  Jacob, 
what  is  this  procession  which  we  have  interfered  with  ?  Is  it, 
perhaps,  some  idiot  asylum  out  for  an  airing?" 

He  considered  the  question  fairly  for  a  moment,  with  great 
gravity. 

"  I  don't  dink  she  is,  bot  I  won't  pe  sure.  I  will  hass."  And 
he  did ! 

They  were  not  in  the  least  degree  offended,  although  Jacob 
had  put  the  question  in  his  plain,  unvarnished  way.  There  was 
so  much  repose  about  the  old  boy  that  no  one  would  ever  sus- 
pect him  of  sarcasm.  It  all  fell  flat.  They  took  infinite  pains 
to  tell  Jacob  all  about  their  school.  They  were  the  drawing- 
class,  in  fact,  and  they  wanted  to  "see  us  do  it,"  and  they  didn't 
mind  staying  with  us  all  the  afternoon,  so  Jacob  kindly  explained. 
We  protested  that  it  grieved  us  to  interrupt  their  walk,  and  point- 
ed out  the  value  of  pedestrian  exercise  to  a  growing  boy,  but 
they  would  not  take  a  hint.  They  seemed  so  much  amused  at 
our  doing  that  gateway ;  they  had  passed  it  every  day  for  years, 
and  never  thought  of  doing  such  a  thing. 

The  attractions  of  Hoorn  kept  up  their  interest  for  us  well 

enough,  but  we  yearned  to  see  a  still  more  grass-grown  town,  if 

possible ;  this  was,  if  anything,  a  little  too  lively.    Edam  was 

on  our  way  back,  and,  best  of  all,  Vollendam — not  for  its  fallen 

greatness,  as  it  had  never  been  much  more  than  a  straggling 

11* 


Our  Brevet  Hearse. 


fishing-village,  but  it  was  said  to  be  another  Marken  for  origi- 
nality and  quaintness;  in  fact,  it  lies  on  the  shores  of  the  Zui- 
der  Zee,  about  opposite  to  that  happy  isle.  We  could  easily 
take  Edam  and  Vollendam  on  our  way  to  Purmerend,  where  a 
kermesse  was  in  full  "swing,"  or  "blast,"  in  fact,  it  was  both — a 
great  deal  of  both.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  burning  desire  to 
see  this  kermesse  we  would  have  gone  still  farther  north  before 
returning  to  Amsterdam. 

Wishing  to  be  entirely  independent  of  any  public  mode  of 
conveyance,  we  told  Jacob  to  hire  us  an  open  trap  of  some  kind, 
that  would  shut  up  in  case  of  rain.  When  this  affair  made  its 
appearance  it  turned  out  to  be  a  curious  cross  between  a  wag- 
onette and  a  hearse.  In  fact,  Jacob  and  the  coachman  admitted 
that  it  could  be  used  for  funerals  if  it  were  required.  There 
were  the  usual  long-tailed  ebony  steeds,  and  rubicund-visaged, 
watery-eyed  driver  in  solemn  black.  There  was  no  other  con- 
veyance to  be  had  on  account  of  the  kermesse,  etc.  So  we  were 
fain  to  take  it ;  in  fact,  we  were  getting  rather  used  to  mourning 
coaches.  This  one  had  a  sort  of  canopy,  with  curtains  of  oil- 
skin that  would  roll  up  or  down,  and  there  was  a  raised  seat  for 
two,  behind;  around  the  back  rail  were  rows  of  sharp  nails,  to 
discourage  small  boys  from  hanging  on  in  the  rear.  We  took 
the  back  seat,  and  filled  in  the  body  of  the  coach  with  Jacob  and 
the  bags  and  sketching  things,  and  told  him  and  the  coachman 
to  look  as  cheerful  as  they  could,  and  off  we  went.  The  road 
was  rather  lively,  with  gayly  dressed  country  people  going  to  the 
fair  at  Purmerend,  or  to  church  at  Edam — some  were  going  to 
both.  It  was  Sunday,  and  the  mixture  of  holiday-makers  and 
sober,  church-going  folk  was  somewhat  incongruous.  Our  own 
simple  but  effective  turn-out  came  in  for  a  fair  share  of  good-nat- 
ured comment — so  pointed  often  that  one  might  think  it  meant 
for  chaff.   Jacob  obliged  us  with  a  few  translations.   "  Dose  gals 


t 


Edam.  169 

in  dem  wagon  say  dot  if  we  don't  mek  'aste  we  won't  pe  in  time 
for  de  funeral ;"  and  "  dose  beoples  zay  dot  we  don't  zeem  zorry 
as  we  might ;  dot  you  must  'ave  loss  your  moder-in-law !"  Jacob 
and  the  liquid-eyed  driver  were  quite  equal  to  their  chaff,  for 
they  gave  back  a  few  Rabelaisian  repartees  that  were  very  ef- 
fective. 

We  soon  reached  Edam,  and  as  we  rumbled  along  its  silent 
streets  and  closed  houses  it  seemed  as  if  the  entire  place  had 
gone  to  church,  or  to  the  fair,  or  "  into  the  silent  land."  We 
alighted  at  a  large,  rambling  hotel,  and  had  our  simple  luncheon 
in  its  banquet-hall  (deserted),  waited  on  by  a  pale,  spirituelle  ghost 
of  a  handmaiden,  who  looked  like  one  of  Ary  Scheffer's  Madon- 
nas. What  an  anachronism  she  seemed,  as  she  came  in  bearing 
a  smoking  dish  of  cutlets,  and,  even  worse,  when  she  took  a  jug 
of  foaming  beer  and  sheaf  of  long  pipes  to  a  party  of  thirsty 
peasants  !  A  stroll  through  the  town  showed  many  traces  of 
former  prosperity,  and  even  a  certain  amount  of  civic  grandeur. 
We  looked  at  the  market-place,  from  the  fine  old  bridge,  with  its 
broad  seats  and  its  much-becurled  and  twisted  iron  railing,  that 
spans  its  wide  canal.  About  the  square  were  numbers  of  delight- 
ful old  houses,  with  elaborately  adorned  gables,  crow-stepped, 
scrolled,  and  weathercocked  and  tableted.  Curiously  interma- 
soned  were  the  stone  and  brick  work,  mossy  and  weather-stained 
enough  to  drive  a  colorist  mad.  I  don't  exactly  mean  the  kind 
of  colorist  who  calls  himself  an  "impressionist,"  as  he  would 
probably  solve  the  problem  of  how  to  do  it  by  leaving  most  of 
the  tints  out  entirely.  Now,  to  leave  out  the  plush-like  or  fruit- 
bloom  tones  of  dusty  red  on  brick  or  tile,  or  the  rich,  lush  green 
of  moss  and  stain,  or  to  vary  the  peculiar  tone  of  painted  wood- 
work, would  be  to  leave  out  that  which  is  racy  of  North  Holland 
— its  distinguishing  mark  and  cachet,  to  any  one  who  has  ever 
taken  note  of  its  local  color.    I  don't  wish  to  cast  the  smallest 


Autumnal  Sadness. 


pebble  at  the  "  impressionist,"  by  the  way.  He  is  a  good  anti- 
dote against  the  "  illusionist,"  who  sees  too  much,  and  then  adds 
to  it  a  lot  that  he  does  not  see.  Somewhere  in  the  "  golden 
mean"  the  two  may  come  together  with  much  mutual  advantage. 

There  is  a  very  good  old  church  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
brick  and  stone,  with  good  stained  glass  ;  something  of  the  kind  of 
work  that  one  sees  in  the  windows  at  Delft.  The  surroundings 
of  the  church — the  trees  and  the  walls  and  the  pathetic  old 
houses,  that  look  like  a  lot  of  poor  relations — are  worth  linger- 
ing over.  We  could  not  judge  of  the  question  of  costume,  as  we 
scarcely  saw  a  soul  except  a  few  melancholy-looking  loafers,  gap- 
ing away  the  weary  hours  on  the  bridge  near  the  square.  There 
was  a  long  row  of  deserted  houses  bordering  the  seldom-stirred 
waters  of  the  placid  canal,  their  windows  long  since  knocked  in, 
and  no  one  to  care.  The  once  well-clipped  trees  had  taken  their 
natural  course  again,  untrimmed  to  regulation  forms.  It  was 
autumn,  and  the  great,  faded,  yellow  leaves  lay  unswept  from  the 
mossy  pavement ;  lay  thickly,  too,  on  the  oozy  purple  scum  of 
the  canal.  There  is,  after  a  short  time,  something  very  filling 
and  satisfying  about  a  very  dead  old  city,  on  Sunday,  when  every 
soul  with  a  spark  of  life  has  gone  to  a  neighboring  kermesse. 
Edam  has  its  little  history,  but,  really,  it  was  not  then  the  fitting- 
moment  to  pry  into  its  past.  We  simply  agreed  to  "  let  bygones 
be  bygones,"  and  go  on  to  Vollendam.  The  drive  is  a  very  short 
one.  The  high-road  is  also  the  dike  that  keeps  back  the  Zuider 
Zee  from  the  deep-lying  polders  hereabout.  It  was  no  dead- 
and-gone  place  by  any  means.  Not  large ;  one  long  street,  with 
lowly  built  but  highly  tarred  and  vividly  painted  fishermen's 
habitations  on  either  side  of  the  way.  The  place  was  fairly 
swarming  with  people  ;  being  Sunday,  the  men  were  all  at  home, 
and  clad  in  their  Sunday  best — dark-blue  tight  jackets  and  al- 
most black,  very  baggy,  breeches,  gleaming  with  immense  silver 


A  CORNER  IN  EDAM. 


Vollendam. 


173 


buttons,  silver  buckles  to  shoes,  gold  ear-rings,  gold  finger-rings, 
great  gold  neck-buttons,  large  silver  watch-fobs.  It  was  the  most 
opulent-looking  crowd  one  could  well  imagine.  The  men  were 
all  dressed  after  a  general  type,  and  the  old  men  the  same  as  the 
young,  except  in  the  shape  of  head-gear.  The  small  boy  was  but 
a  miniature  of  the  grown  man.  They  were  all  as  busy  as  could 
be,  eating  small,  hard  apples,  or  small,  hard  nuts.  On  the  wooden 
platform  in  front  of  nearly  every  house  were  great  baskets  of 
nuts  or  apples :  one  could  hardly  see  how  trade  could  go  on  with 
profit,  as  they  were  all  sellers  and  consumers. 

They  were  evidently  impressed  by  our  enormous  coach,  but 
far  too  dignified  to  show  it.  We  saluted  them  very  gravely  and 
politely,  as  we  went  on  through  the  thickly  populated  street. 
They,  with  their  silver  buttons  bristling  proudly  about  them,  sa- 
luted gravely  back,  but  kept  on  champing  their  hard  apples. 
We  soon  came  to  a  narrow  bridge  over  a  small  but  powerful 
canal,  which  our  chariot  could  not  pass — the  canal  was  strong 
enough  to  have  borne  an  elephant — nor  could  we  turn  round,  as 
the  dike  was  too  narrow.  Just  then,  as  we  alighted,  came  to  us 
a  fussy  little  man,  who  asked  Jacob  if  we  were  artists,  and  would 
we  like  to  see  inside  one  of  the  houses  ?  perhaps  also  we  might 
like  to  buy  some  costumes  ?  Bless  the  man  !  what  else  had  we 
come  for? — and  he  to  guess  our  dearest  wishes!  He  led  the 
way  to  his  own  house,  followed  by  us  and  half  the  entire  popula- 
tion. Although  we  came  at  a  critical  moment  upon  his  good 
vrouw — she  was  "  tubbing"  the  two  babies — she  received  us 
kindly.  The  children  howled  at  first,  but  soon  got  reconciled  to 
us,  and  we  to  them,  innocent  of  costume  as  they  were.  The  hus- 
band stated  our  wishes,  and  out  of  the  great  wooden  garderobe 
came  stores  of  Sunday-best  and  every-day  attire.  Then  arose 
questions  of  how  certain  garments  were  got  on  or  into.  Madame 
would  oblige  us  by  showing  us  then  and  there — assisted  by  her 


174 


Gj'eat  Enthusiasm. 


excited  husband,  with  such  vigor  and  zeal  that  the  poor  woman 
was  in  danger  several  times  of  coming  unhooked  and  untied  too 
suddenly  for  strict  decorum.  She  was  obliged  to  check  him  at 
one  time  with  a  sounding  whack  on  the  ear,  much  to  the  delight 
of  the  widely  grinning  and  chattering  crowd  at  the  doors  and 
windows.  We  wanted  a  young  man's  dress  complete,  silver  but- 
tons and  all.  In  a  jiffy  his  eldest  son  was  sent  for,  and  was  dis- 
robed and  disbuttoned  before  he  knew  what  had  happened  to 
him.  He  soon  came  in  with  the  things  neatly  done  up  in  a 
bundle,  all  ready  for  us. 

During  all  this  time  everybody,  including  the  outside  crowd, 
talked  and  screamed  at  the  tops  of  their  lungs — and  they  were 
evidently  of  leather.  It  was  deafening  and  hot  and  exciting, 
but  when  it  came  to  settling  up — the  prices,  by  the  way,  were 
reasonable  enough — there  seemed  to  arise  a  very  howl  of  enthu- 
siasm. The  bundles  were  neatly  pinned  up  in  gorgeous  cotton 
handkerchiefs,  and  when  we  got  outside,  and  added  these  start- 
ling spots  of  color  to  our  sketching-gear  in  the  mourning  coach, 
the  effect  was  rather  screaming.  The  problem  of  turning  round 
had  already  been  solved  by  unharnessing  the  horses,  and  a  score 
of  these  sturdy,  bronzed  giants  just  picking  up  the  old  ark  and 
lifting  it  about  as  if  it  had  been  a  child's  perambulator.  They 
modestly  blushed  even  when  we  thanked  them  for  their  trouble, 
and  when  Jacob  proffered  some  coin  to  the  leading  spirit,  to 
stand  treat,  they  almost  refused.  It  was  finally  accepted,  not  for 
drinks,  but  for  apples  and  nuts  all  round,  and  when  we  drdve 
away — slowly,  for  fear  of  running  over  some  of  the  numerous 
small-fry — there  was  infinite  waving  of  kindly  farewells  from  the 
crowd,  some  of  the  small  boys  following  us  along  the  dike  cheer- 
ing until  out  of  breath. 

What  a  wake-up  the  whole  thing  had  been  !  Even  Jacob,  on 
whom  defunct  cities  soon  palled,  beamed  all  over.    The  funeral 


AN  IDYL. 


A  Wild  Life. 


177 


ark,  with  all  its  rainbow-hued  bundles,  became  a  painful  mystery 
along  the  road,  until  we  got  to  Purmerend,  and  then  we  were 
supposed  to  be  a  late  arrival,  with  some  additional  attractions 
for  the  fair.  Small  boys  ran  after  us  the  moment  we  struck 
the  town  of  booths ;  others  could  hardly  get  off  the  flying- 
horses  and  merry-go-rounds  quickly  enough  to  see  about  this 
new  thing,  whatever  it  was.  When  we  reached  the  hotel  we  had 
some  bother  about  getting  rooms,  the  landlady  telling  Jacob  that 
she  did  not  entertain  performers.  An  explanation,  however,  soon 
mollified  the  dame,  and  we  were  taken  in.  The  kermesse  proved 
to  be  a  very  old  story.  There  were  the  usual  monstrosities  and 
entertainments.  The  people  were  at  that  particular  moment 
very  languid  and  unenterprising.  It  was  the  last  day ;  they  had 
kept  it  up-  for  a  week,  I  think,  and  no  wonder  they  were  tired. 
There  was  to  be  a  wild  orgy  at  night,  however,  as  a  grand  finale. 
But  it  came  on  to  rain,  and,  as  we  did  not  see  much  prospect  of 
anything  worth  going  out  into  the  wet  for,  we  stayed  at  home, 
and  moralized  on  the  wicked  and  thoughtless  ways  of  the  people 
who  could  carry  on  such  frivolities,  and  worse,  for  a  whole  week. 
About  midnight  we  became  aware  that  the  kermesse  wras  on,  and 
in  full  blast.  We  could  hear  the  strident  music  of  several  danc- 
ing booths  and  halls  at  once.  They  must  needs  sing,  too,  while 
they  dance,  and  shriek  with  fiendish,  merry  laughter,  keeping 
time  with  much  slapping  of  hands  and  clatter  of  thick-soled 
shoes.  As  the  morning  wore  on  the  revels  seemed  to  intensify; 
they  got  out  into  the  street,  and  took  the  form  of  wordy  dis- 
putes, diversified  with  a  few  fights.  The  reconciliations  were,  if 
anything,  more  noisy  still.  They  led  to  much  more  dancing  and 
howling  and  drinking.  We  got  up  now  and  then  and  went  to 
the  window,  and  looked  out  on  the  revellers  prancing  about  in 
the  raw  morning  air,  but  we  did  not  care  to  join  them.  It  was 
nearly  time  to  arise  before  the  roar  and  the  row  abated  very 

1 2 


1 78  The  Penitential  Morning. 

much,  and  even  after  our  breakfast,  and  when  on  the  way  to  the 
boat,  there  were  still  some  choice  spirits  who  seemed  to  have  a 
few  more  spasmodic  revels  left  in  them.  We  were  aware  that  we 
too  had  had  a  "  night  of  it,"  and  though  not  exactly  in  the  thick  of 
the  pandemonium,  we  had  been  sleepless  sharers  in  its  infernal 
joys.  The  boat  took  a  few  revellers  on  to  Amsterdam.  They 
were  not  strictly  lovely  by  daylight. 


THE  MORNING  AFTER. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


ON  TO  SCHEVENINGEN  AND  VEERE. 

AT  Amsterdam  we  only  stayed  part  of  a  day,  wishing  to  go 
on  to  Zeeland,  stopping  on  our  way  at  the  Hague  and 
^  Scheveningen. 
The  Hague  is  so  well  known,  of  all  places  in  Holland,  that 
no  description  of  it  is  needed  here.  Although  we  thoroughly 
enjoyed  museums  and  galleries,  I  must  say  that  we  spent 
the  most  of  our  time  at  Scheveningen.  It  was  so  easy  to 
pop  into  the  frequent  tram,  and  be  whisked  along  that  lovely, 
lively,  shaded  avenue  of  trees  all  the  way  to  the  very  sea.  As 
we  sat  over  our  first  day's  breakfast  at  the  comfortable  "  Belle- 
vue,"  and  asked  ourselves  what  wre  should  do  for  the  day, 
we  thought  that,  as  the  weather  was  so  lovely,  we  had  better 
make  sure  of  it  by  going  to  Scheveningen ;.  and,  as  it  is  ever 
wise  to  make  some  provision  for  a  rainy  day,  the  galleries  of  the 
Hague  would  fit  in  nicely,  and  the  rest  of  the  town  we  could  see 
when  we  could  not  go  to  Scheveningen.  The  shady  avenue 
aforementioned  is  getting  rather  crowded  with  stylish  villas  and 
restaurants,  although  they  do  well  to  get  as  far  back  among  the 
trees  as  they  can.  The  interest  of  the  avenue  was  to  us  the 
groups  of  fisher-people,  going  laden,  and  coming  back  empty- 
basketed  from  the  city.  Soon  the  air  gets  more  redolent  of  the 
briny  sea,  and  of  the  loads  and  mounds  of  salted  herrings  in  and 
about  the  village.  Fashion  and  rank  crowd  each  other  there 
more  and  more  every  year.    The  little  old  fishing-village  is 


i  So 


Human  Nature. 


fast  getting  into  a  corner,  and  expiring  among  its  fish-like  and 
ancient  smells — game  to  the  last.  A  newfangled  burgomaster 
has  been  weakening  its  strongest  defence  by  introducing  drain- 
age and  sanitary  ideas.  Fashion  makes  small  impress,  however, 
on  even  the  most  frivolous  young  fish-wife.    She  would  no  more 


IN  SCHEVENINGEN. 


think  of  putting  on  the  least  bit  of  it  than  the  elegant  mondaine 
would  of  going  about  in  great  white  sabots.  Human  nature  is 
weak,  however,  on  certain  points.  Did  we  not,  looking  through 
a  shop  window,  see  a  pair  of  bonny  fish-girls  buying  eau-de- 
Cologne  ?  What  charms  did  these  young  sirens  expect  to  work 
with  such  very  unholy  water  as  this  ?    At  the  foot  of  the  long 


Bits  of  Character. 


1S1 


avenue  the  struggle  between  fish  and  fashion  comes  to  a  stop. 
On  that  deep-rutted  sand,  strewn  with  ragged  ends  of  herrings, 
jolted  out  of  brimming  carts,  fish  is  supreme.  The  broad,  tarry- 
trousered  men,  and  those  bronzed  -  cheeked,  bright -eyed,  free- 
swinging,  long-striding,  saucy  girls,  alone  seem  to  find  firm  foot- 
ing and  pleasant  for  their  great  white  wooden  shoes. 

Down  by  the  whity-brown  fringe  of  the  gray  sea  lies  a  lusty 
fleet  of  broad-beamed,  brown-sailed  fishing  craft.  Some  were 
being  hauled  on  shore  ;  horses  were  pulling,  windlasses  were 
dragging,  men  were  shouting,  women  and  children  were  running 
here  and  there,  carts  of  fish  were  careering  about.  It  was  as 
lively  and  breezy  a  sight  as  one  wrould  wish  to  see.  It  was  like 
no  other  place  in  the  world  but  just  Scheveningen.  Artists  all 
complain  that  the  fisher-people  here  do  not  like  to  be  painted 
or  drawn,  especially  by  the  "  Realistic  "  set.  It  was  all  lovely 
enough  when  the  "  Idealists  "  used  to  give  them  taper  fingers 
and  waists,  and  simpering  smiles  and  little  feet ;  but  now  that 
the  dread  "  Realist  "  has  come  upon  the  scene,  adding  his  sense 
of  ugliness  to  what  with  them  is  strength,  and  making  fine  char- 
acter into  mere  deformity,  one  only  wonders  that  these  long- 
suffering  fish-wives  ever  spare  the  lives  of  their  natural  enemies. 
No  part  of  Holland  can  be  called  a  quiet  sketching-ground, 
and  here  it  is  worse  than  elsewhere.  However,  we  managed,  by 
a  certain  little  plan  (patent  applied  for),  to  do  more  than  at  most 
places.  The  faithful  Jacob  was  of  great  service  to  us  in  these 
straits.  It  would  never  do  to  reveal  how,  as  blunderers  might  be- 
tray its  workings  and  spoil  all.  We  stopped  at  the  open  door- 
way of  the  old  church  to  take  note  of  some  very  old  fishermen 
tolling  the  funeral  bell.  It  was  a  sad,  impressive  scene;  but  I 
fear  that  its  pictorial  side — the  bronzed  faces  and  knotty  hands, 
the  low  tones  of  the  black,  blue,  and  brown  of  their  kippered 
clothing  telling  off  against  the  white  walls  in  shadow,  the  one 


182 


On  to  Veere. 


little  chink  of  sunlight  that  sent  warm  reflections  playing  about 
— overpowered  any  feeling  of  sentimentality.  The  air  was  so 
bracing  and  pure,  and  the  life  and  movement  of  Scheveningen 
so  amusing,  that  we  would  gladly  have  stayed  longer,  but  Zee- 
land  was  still  to  be  seen,  and  our  time  was  growing  brief.  So, 
banishing  our  regrets,  we  took  the  train  to  Middelburg,  the 
capital  of  the  Isle  of  Walcheren,  in  Zeeland.  A  fine,  large,  open 
station,  a  new  iron  bridge,  well-built  docks,  rows  of  tall  new 
houses,  a  rattling,  banging  omnibus  over  the  Belgian  pavement 
to  the  new  Doelan  Hotel — such  were  the  first  impressions. 
But  as  soon  as  we  got  out  of  the  railway  radius  of  modernity 
we  came  to  quaint  old  streets  filled  with  velvet-clad  and  silver- 
buttoned  people,  and  then  to  a  great  old  market  square  with  a 
grand  old  town-hall  of  the  fifteenth  century,  perfect  from  door- 
step to  weathercock,  the  like  of  which  we  had  not  seen  in  Hol- 
land. It  was  too  late  to  regret,  but  I  remember  that  my  young- 
friend  remarked,  "  Great  Scott !"  (his  favorite  and  guarded 
expletive),  "  why,  this  is  the  place  we  ought  to  have  come  to 
first  of  all !  And  even  if  we  had  stayed  here  all  the  time,  we 
wouldn't  have  done  badly." 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  we  arrived,  and  we  had  not  much 
time  to  explore  before  dinner,  but  we  made  the  most  of  our 
chances,  and  saw  some  lovely  old  houses,  and  a  few  churches 
(outside),  and  had  a  glimpse  of  the  Abbey  precincts,  with  its 
queer  old  gardens  and  hotel,  promising  ourselves  much  on  the 
morrow.  The  day  being  fair  and  bright,  we  thought  it  wise  to 
go  on  to  Veere,  and  leave  the  interiors  and  the  museum  of  Mid- 
delburg for  a  rainy  day.  So  we  had  an  ark  (not  funereal  this 
time)  and  a  pair  of  horses,  and  made  our  way,  while  the  sun 
shone,  to  this  very  queer,  remote,  unfriended  little  old  town, 
which  lies  at  the  back  of  Walcheren,  some  four  miles  from  Mid- 
delburg.   The  drive  was  along  a  brick -paved  road  lined  with 


BELL-RINGERS. 


Ancient  Opulence. 


185 


trees,  past  many  thriving  farmsteads,  not  quite  so  fat  and  opu- 
lent as  those  of  Friesland,  but  well-to-do.  The  first  sight  of 
Veere  was  its  great,  gaunt  church,  half  of  it  tumbled  away,  but 
a  small  piece,  about  as  big  as  half  Westminster  Abbey,  still 
standing.  It  was  a  barrack  not  many  years  ago,  but  was  not  a 
success.  And  as  the  bit  now  in  actual  use  is  not  a  tenth  part 
of  it,  it  looks  rather  a  dreary  mass  of  ruin.  The  streets  were 
silent,  and  the  tenanted  houses  few  ;  the  closed  houses  far  too 


VIEW  OF  VEERE. 


many,  some  of  them  most  charming  examples  of  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  century  architecture,  notably  the  remains  of  the 
"  Scottish  "  house,  so  called  because  it  was  built  for  some  mer- 
chant here,  during  the  once-flourishing  Scotch  trade. 

We  went  to  the  town-hall,  built  by  the  same  architect,  evi- 
dently, who  designed  the  larger  and  more  sumptuous  hall  at 
Middelburg.  There  were  around  the  facade  the  same  statues 
of  the  Dukes  of  Burgundy,  but  not  so  many  as  at  the  capital. 


A  Girl  Who  Would  Not 


The  interior  delighted  us  beyond  anything  we  had  seen.  The 
old  council  chamber  remains  exactly  the  same  as  it  was 
in  its  early  days.  Over  the  chimney- breast  hung  the  four 
clenched  hands,  severed  at  the  wrist,  cast  in  bronze,  one  hold- 
ing a  hatchet,  and  one  a  scourge.  The  story  is  that  some 
three  centuries  ago  the  council  of  the  town  conspired  against 
the  reigning  duke,  and  were  brought  to  trial,  and  sentenced 
to  have  each  a  hand  cut  off,  to  warn  them  not  to  do  it  again. 
There  was  some  good  plea  for  mercy  that  mitigated  the  decree, 
and  the  offending  hands  were  simply  cast  in  effigy,  and  hung 
up  as  a  memento.  Here,  too,  is  a  famous  corporation  cup  of 
the  same  period,  so  fine  and  rare  that  when  it  was  at  the  Paris 
exhibition  some  one  offered  an  enormous  sum  for  it,  but  the 
poor  and  proud  council  of  Veere  declined  to  part  with  it. 

We  went  to  the  hotel  of  the  Watch-tower  for  luncheon,  and 
found  it  so  picturesque  and  suggestive  that  we  asked  about  ac- 
commodations in  case  of  wishing  to  come  and  stay  for  a  few 
days.  The  landlady,  however,  did  not  seem  to  care  much  about 
this  idea  of  ours.  She  told  Jacob  that  she  didn't  like  strangers 
(quaint  notion  for  a  hotel-keeper).  The  daughter  of  the  house, 
wTho  served  us,  being  a  perfect  picture  in  the  way  of  costume, 
we  tried  to  get  her  to  part  with  a  dress  or  two.  Not  a  bit  of 
it  !  She  was  not  quite  so  prejudiced  against  strangers  as  the 
mother,  but  still  she  would  stick  by  her  wardrobe.  Presently 
she  partly  relented.  She  knew  of  two  girls  who  had  lots  of 
splendid  things,  and  she  would  go  with  us  to  see  if  they  would 
oblige  us.  So,  when  the  ark  came  round,  she  got  in,  and  piloted 
us  to  the  place,  which  was  a  short  distance  out  of  town.  I  need 
not  say  that  we  were  a  painful  mystery  to  the  gaping  towns-peo- 
ple as  we  drove  by,  with  our  gayly  attired  young  maiden  chat- 
ting and  laughing  beside  us. 

We  soon  came  to  the  place,  and  down  alighted  our  fair 


Girls  Who  Would. 


187 


friend,  and  went  in  alone  to  smooth  the  way  for  us.  She  soon 
returned,  beaming :  it  was  all  right ;  they  were  willing  to 
listen  to  the  voice  of  reason.  We  were  ushered  into  as  sweet 
and  cosey  a  picture  of  a  Dutch  interior  as  one  could  wish  to 
see.  The  family  wrere  at  tea,  and  asked  us  to  partake,  which 
we  did,  while  the  girls  went  to  the  high  old  oaken  wardrobe, 
and  took  down  piles  and  piles  of  neatly  folded,  lavender-scented 
feminine  "  things  "  generally.  There  was  much  giggling  and 
blushing ;  but,  reassured  by  mamma  and  the  landlady's  daugh- 
ter, who  was  now  taking  a  lively  interest,  and  enjoying  the 
whole  thing,  they  put  off  their  shyness,  and  showed  us  how 
the  caps  and  the  gold  corkscrews  went  on,  and,  finally,  the  af- 


WE  GET  SOME  THINGS. 


A  Precipitate  Adieu. 


fair  became  a  sort  of  full-dress  rehearsal  of  effects  of  costume. 
Jacob  arranged  the  values  for  the  things,  and  very  cheap  they 
were.  I  never  saw  the  old  boy  more  carried  away  than  he  was 
during  these  proceedings.  We  bade  the  good  people  farewell, 
and  then  restored  our  elaborate  damsel  to  her  anxious  parents 
and  friends. 

It  was  a  jolly  day,  that  day,  and  we  looked  forward  to  the 
morrow  for  a  good  time  about  Middelburg ;  but,  alas  !  our  plans 
with  regard  to  this  lovely  Isle  of  Walcheren  were  sadly  cut 
short.  The  next  day  my  young  friend  found  himself  so  very 
far  from  well  that  we  all  took  alarm.  The  prospect  of  an  ill- 
ness in  that  back  town,  picturesque  though  it  be,  was  not  al- 
luring. Through  the  aid  of  a  certain  heroic  remedy  we  were 
able  to  pack  off  at  once ;  enjoying  the  breezy  drive  to  the 
Flushing  boat,  the  sea  air  again,  the  shaking  up  of  a  bright 
but  gusty  trip  across  the  Channel,  and  so  home,  refreshed  and 
reassured,  to  Kensington  and  our  dusty  studios.  We  were 
sorry  to  leave  Middelburg  so  abruptly,  but  we  said  each  to  the 
other  that  it  should  not  be  for  long;  and  thereafter  we  built 
elaborate  schemes  for  our  return,  and  laid  out  plans  more 
comprehensive  than  those  of  a  Spanish  admiral  about  to  in- 
vade the  Zuider  Zee. 


Little  Girl  of 

veere 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


BACK  AGAIN. 

IT  has  always  seemed  to  me  a  most  deliberate  and  cold- 
blooded proceeding,  at  best  of  times,  to  set  out  on  a  pleas- 
ure journey  alone  by  one's  self  (a  sentiment  in  which 
many  a  lone,  lorn  wife  of  many  a  gallivanting  husband  will  only 
too  readily  concur,  without  doubt) ;  but  on  that  particularly 
damp  and  drizzly  night  in  October,  when  I,  sad  and  solitary, 
sank  into  a  cold  corner  seat  of  the  Queensborough  train  for 
the  Flushing  boat,  and  heard,  as  we  slid  out  of  the  station,  the 
sharp  patter  of  rain  drive  against  the  windows,  and  saw  the 
ghostly  shreds  of  steam  scud  by,  it  added  awfully  to  the  loneli- 
ness and  depression,  and  seemed  more  cold  and  deliberate  than 
usual.  It  had  all  been  so  carefully  planned  between  us — this 
little  trip.  There  were  to  be  no  false  starts, -no  chasing  of  the 
wild  goose  vainly 'all  over  the  "Land  of  Cuyp,"  this  time. 
Maps  had  been  studied,  all  sorts  of  information  bearing  on  the 
country  had  been  got  at,  and  carefully  stored  up,  and,  after  all, 
this  was  the  upshot !  The  heretofore  Damon  of  my  Dutch 
voyaging  was  obliged  to  go  sooner,  and  I  could  only  go  later, 
than  we  intended,  and  the  only  balm  and  consolation  we  could 
offer  to  each  other  was  the  chance  of  meeting  blithely  in 
some  weedy  town,  somewhere  on  the  damp  surface  of  the  Low 
Countries. 

It  was  small  consolation  to  seek  for  sympathetic  quotations 
from  the  poets,  and  to  rack  and  twist  them  to  suit  the  melan- 


The  Absent  "Chestnut? 


choly  occasion.  I  was  rather  more  inclined  to  smile  than  to 
weep  when  the  exquisite  words  of  the  Laureate  seemed  to  get 
mauled  and  rolled  over  and  over  to  the  scurrying  clatter  of  the 
train  : 

"  Who  broke  our  sweet  companionship  ? 
And  led  thee  where  I  cannot  see 
Nor  follow,  though  I  fly  in  haste. 
And  think,  that  somewhere  in  the  waste 
The  'chestnut'  sits  and  waits  for  me." 

It  was  a  relief  to  get  away  from  temptation  to  any  further 
atrocities  of  the  kind — from  the  parody-infected  air  of -the  train 
to  the  windy,  wet  decks  of  the  waiting  steamer. 

I  have  already  given  a  slight  "  impressionist "  sketch  of  the 
first  view  of  Holland  at  early  morn  from  the  steamer's  deck. 


AN  EARLY  SKETCH. 


Doubtful  Guidance. 


191 


There  was  no  healthy  impulse  to  repeat  the  picture,  with  a 
slightly  altered  background  of  gray  mizzle,  on  that  particular 
morning ;  in  fact,  there  was  not  much  to  see  except  the  dim, 
damp  outlines  of  the  Flushing  landing-place,  when  I  came  on 
deck. 

Familiarity  with  the  Dutch  language,  to  the  extent  of  a 
dozen  or  two  words,  gave  me  a  certain  feeling  of  calm  security 
through  the  various  little  ordeals  of  the  custom-house,  and  I 
soon  found  myself  on  the  train,  bound  for  the  good  old  town  of 
Middelburg. 

It  was  a  pet  part  of  the  new  plan  to  begin  Holland  again 
where  we  had  left  off  so  grudgingly.  We  had  only  had  a  mere 
glimpse  of  the  quaint  old  capital  of  this  Island  of  Walcheren 
when  we  were  hurried  away,  vowing  to  return  on  the  first  op- 
portunity. 

My  friend  and,  in  a  certain  vague  sense,  companion,  whom 
I  did  not  so  much  regard  as  "  Lost,  but  gone  before,"  had 
written  to  me  choice  bits  of  experience  and  advice  to  be  fol- 
lowed from  the  moment  I  should  land  at  Flushing  —  advice 
which,  by  the  way,  I  found,  from  altered  conditions  of  things, 
somewhat  tiresome  to  follow.  Example :  "  Don't  take  the  train 
from  Flushing  to  Middelburg,  but  walk  across  the  country  — 
it  is  lovely  in  the  rosy  morning  light.  There  is  a  jolly  old 
inn  half-way  —  stay  to  breakfast  —  awfully  pretty  girl  in  gold- 
plated  head-gear  to  wait — beast  of  an  old  landlord  —  fire  you 
out  if  not  careful"  —  this  was  sadly  suggestive  of  thoughtless 
light -heartedness  (my  friend  was  blessed  with  a  companion 
in  his  wanderings,  I  forgot  to  say) — "  Take  the  second  turn- 
ing down  the  third  lane,  and  cross  the  bridge  that  leads  to 
the  field,"  etc. 

I  did  not,  on  my  chilly,  drizzly  morning,  see  this  little  ex- 
cursion in  the  same  light  that  the  two  more  happy  souls  saw  it 


ig2  Morning  Gloom. 

on  the  more  favored  morn  that  broke  so  bright  and  rosy — nat- 
urally.   So  I  took  the  prosaic  and  more  direct  train. 

The  distance  between  Flushing  and  Middelburg  is  so  short 
that,  notwithstanding  a  longish  wait  at  the  station  and  a  most 
deliberate  express  train — when  once  started — it  was  still  early 
morning  when  we  arrived  at  our  destination.  I  say  we,  as  there 
was  seemingly  another  blinking  passenger  besides  myself  that 
descended,  but  he  disappeared  so  suddenly  into  the  misty  air 
that  he  must  have  been  a  ghost.  I  was  left  alone  to  the  well- 
meant  but  utterly  foggy  attentions  of  a  dank  youth  who  ap- 
peared to  be  ticket -taker,  porter,  and  station-master  in  one. 
The  only  visible  conveyance  to  take  me  to  the  hotel  was  a  man 
with  a  weird,  elongated  wheelbarrow. 

Stay  !  there  was  even  a  choice  between  the  man  with  the 
wheelbarrow  and  a  long,  frail,  sketchy  youth,  who  offered  to 
carry  the  things  on  his  back.  He  seemed  to  have  grown  up 
over-night,  like  some  pale  stalk  of  rank  asparagus,  and  to  be  in 
danger  of  cracking  in  two  if  bent  under  the  burden  of  a  travel- 
ling-bag. I  took  the  wheelbarrow  man,  as  I  had  not  the  heart 
to  try  any  experiments  on  the  youth.  So,  failing  as  porter,  he 
offered  himself  as  guide.  I  was  obliged  to  discourage  even  this 
ambition  in  him,  although  it  went  against  me,  he  looked  so  pa- 
thetic, and  eager  to  earn  the  breakfast  that  his  weedy  consti- 
tution stood  so  much  in  need  of.  Failing  as  guide,  he  became 
a  hopeful  follower,  and  shambled  on  after  us  at  a  respectful 
distance.  While  he  did  so  he  reminded  me  of  poor  "  Smike," 
with  the  cuffs  of  his  faded,  outgrown  jacket  half-way  up  to  his 
elbows,  and  his  well-patched  trousers  shrunken  almost  to  his 
knees.  He  saw  us  to  the  hotel  door,  and  had  evidently,  like 
"  Melancholy  "  in  his  own  case,  "  marked  me  for  his  own." 

When  we  could  prevail  on  the  rosy  young  giantess  to  stop 
splashing  and  squirting  water  over  the  fanlight  of  the  hotel 


Merciless  Experiment. 


193 


door  a  moment,  so  that  we  might  enter,  I  found  a  tolerably 
cheery  welcome.  There  was  a  moment's  shade  of  gloom  when 
I  declined  to  take  any  more  breakfast.  There  had  been  a  kind 
of  one  on  the  boat,  and  a  further  trifling  with  one  at  the  sta- 
tion ;  a  third  one,  no  matter  how  sketchy,  would  have  been  mere 
vanity.  So,  not  to  lose  time  or  happy  chance  or  the  misty 
morning  effects,  I  soon  arranged  hotel  matters,  and  turned  out 
again  into  the  chill  air.  Smike  was  waiting  for  me,  pathetic 
and  eager.  He  kindly  pointed  out  the  very  obvious  Town- 
hall,  and  remarked, "  Museum."  If  I  could  have  spoken  Dutch 
fluently,  I  should  probably  have  spoken  it  harshly  to  that  weedy 
lad,  but  the  moment's  hesitation  about  terms  sufficiently  abusive 
gave  me  time  to  reflect.  Why  should  I  discourage  the  only 
evidence  of  enterprise  that  seemed  to  be  awake  in  the  place  ? 
He  was,  furthermore,  picturesque  and  quaint,  and  the  very  twin 
brother  of  the  poor  drudge  over  whom  so  many  bitter  boyish 
tears  were  shed  when  "  Nickleby  "  was  read  for  the  first  time — 
yea,  even  the  tenth  time !  This  Smike  was  evidently  no  great 
linguist ;  he  had  small  English,  and  less  French,  and  but  hazy 
German.  But  why  not — he  looked  long-suffering  and*  defence- 
less— why  not  try  some  elementary  Dutch  on  him  ?  Poor  boy, 
he  seemed  delighted  with  it,  and  understood  it  nearly  as  wTell  as 
I  did  myself.  And  I,  guessing  at  the  probable  replies  to  my 
own  observations,  could  frequently  understand  him. 

We  would  go,  then,  and  see  the  Abbey.  That  venerable 
pile  at  best  of  times  is  slightly  shut  in,  and  naturally  somewhat 
damp,  mouldy,  and  depressed  ;  but  on  this  chill  October  morn- 
ing, with  the  great,  gaunt  trees  weeping  tears  of  thick  dew  over 
the  bed  of  dead  leaves  that  strewed  the  soppy  ground,  reeking 
with  stale  miasma,  it  was  far,  far  from  cheerful.  Artistic  or  an- 
tiquarian enthusiasm  needs  much  pumping  to  insure  a  warm 
or  steady  flow  on  such  morning.    Poor  Smike  left  all  such 

13 


i94 


Moist  Observations. 


pumping  to  me  ;  he  was  gradually  turning  a  delicate  mauve  tint 
with  cold  and  damp  and  long-deferred  hope.  There  is  a  fairish 
hotel  in  part  of  the  Abbey  building,  but  it  is  rather  shaded,  and 
haunted  with  the  reek  of  rotting  leaves  on  wet  autumnal  days. 
(I  much  preferred  the  "  Doelan,"  in  the  fine  open  square.) 
There  are  government  offices  and  schools,  a  church  or  two,  and 
various  other  institutions  within  the  precincts  of  the  fine  old 
rambling  pile,  which  must  have  covered  more  ground  than  the 
Abbey  of  Westminster,  at  one  time.  Its  history  is  the  sad  and 
stormy  history  of  most  abbeys.  I  should  like  to  write  a  little 
more  of  it  than  I  have  space  to  give — all  the  little  I  can  remem- 
ber or  turn  to — but  the  temptation  to  keep  on  would  be  danger- 
ous. Better  not  begin  !  It  was  getting  chilly,  or,  rather,  it  was 
getting  more  and  more  so.  Smike  was  turning  from  his  tint 
of  watery  pink  to  the  off-white  of  a  farthing  dip,  and  his  teeth 
were  all  a-chatter. 

"  This  will  do  for  the  first  entertainment,"  I  managed  to  con- 
vey to  him.  "  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  managed  to  reply.  He  was 
bent  on  showing  me  the  "  Park,"  and  so  much  bent  that  I  did 
not  like  to  suddenly  turn  him  the  other  way,  for  fear  of  seeing 
him  crack  in  twain,  like  a  roughly-plucked  forked  radish.  The 
Park  was  not  far,  so  I  let  him  lead  the  way.  It  was  not  far 
enough,  in  fact.  I  should  have  liked  to  walk  off  the  chill  of 
the  Abbey,  and  it  was  only  like  stepping  out  of  an  ice-house 
into  a  cold  bath.  The  ornamental  waters  were  further  en- 
riched by  a  thick  litter  of  fallen  leaves  upon  their  emerald  mat 
of  duck-weed,  which  seemed  like  a  long  stretch  of  Persian  carpet 
of  simple  and  severe  design.  The  weeping  willows  dripped  their 
pendent  switches  dejectedly  over  the  chilly  ooze.  The  morn- 
ing dew  lay  in  thick  beads  on  everything ;  it  even  seemed  to 
bead  the  surface  of  the  fat,  rich  water.  I  need  not  say  that 
there  was  not  a  living  thing,  not  even  a  duck  or  frog,  enjoying 


PART  OF  ABBEY,  MIDDELBURG. 


A  Hard-earned  Breakfast. 


197 


that  rank,  lush  paradise.  Neither  did  we  venture  much  farther 
than  the  gate.  One  glance  at  the  cindery  path,  littered  with 
drenched  leaves  and  twigs,  one  peep  at  the  drippy  willows, 
would  suffice  as  well  as  a  wilderness  of  such  moist  joys. 
Even  Smike  appeared  to  be  taken  aback  —  he  had  probably 
never  seen  it  before  under  such  a  depressing  aspect  —  and  al- 
most apologized  for  intruding  on  its  bath  of  dew  and  fog. 
"  We  will  go  back  now  to  the  market-place." 

He  offered  no  objection,  merely  drew  my  attention  to  a 
long,  green -mouldy  colonnade  that  we  were  passing,  deserted 
by  human  shape,  strewn  with  wetter,  rottener,  and  bigger  leaves 
than  we  had  yet  seen,  festooned  with  beaded  spider-webs,  just 
glistening  in  the  now  appearing  sun.  This  institution  was  the 
"Bourse"  (Dutch,  Beurs),  or  Merchants'  Exchange.  Business 
was  evidently  rather  torpid,  if  not  dead  and  gone  altogether. 

"  Business  bad  ?"  I  managed  to  express  to  my  guide.  He 
smiled  a  wan  smile,  and  waved  his  pallid  finger  sadly,  and  said 
something  which  I  took  to  be  a  Dutch  equivalent  for  the  "  last 
ditch,"  or  some  other  thing  equally  hopeless.  I  could  now  see 
the  pinnacled  tower  of  the  Town-hall  shining  afar,  and  hear  the 
sweet,  low  wrangle  of  its  archaic  chimes.  So  I-  dismissed  Smike, 
with  an  odd  assortment  of  brasses,  nickels,  coppers,  and  other 
specimens  of  small  Dutch  currency.  He  radiated  enormously  in 
broadest  smiles,  and  hied  him  off  to  breakfast  as  fast  as  he  could 
shuffle.  Our  conversation  had  shown  symptoms  of  lagging.  He 
began  to  suspect  that  I  didn't  any  longer  know  the  proper  an- 
swers to  my  own  questions.  And  as  for  being  able  to  guess 
any  chance  observation  of  his,  I  was  rather  losing  ground  than 
improving  in  my  "  shots."  I  even  think  that  when  we  parted, 
in  view  of  that  guiding  tower,  we  were  equally  glad  to  be  rid 
of  each  other.  I  did  not  need  him,  as  I  could  easily  sight  the 
lofty  spire  when  I  wished  to  return  to  the  hotel. 

13* 


The  Steen  Hitis. 


There  is  a  very  curious  old  sixteenth -century  house,  with 
richly  carved  front,  showing,  in  a  series  of  tablets  in  marble, 
the  manner  and  mystery  of  stone -working  —  quarrying,  ship- 
ping, cutting,  building,  and  so  forth.  I  did  not  exactly  know 
the  way  to  it,  nor  did  I  care  to  ask,  preferring  to  amuse  myself 
with  trying  to  find  it  by  wandering  off  in  the  direction  in  which 
I  thought  it  ought  to  be.  I  knew  that  it  was  called  the  "  Steen 
Huis,"  if  I  wanted  to  ask  at  any  time,  and  with  a  vague  recol- 
lection of  having  seen  a  photograph  of  it  (to  identify  it  by,  when 
I  saw  it),  I  thought  I  would  let  it  discover  itself. 

After  much  meandering  up  and  down  and  around,  now  for- 
getting, now  remembering,  my  vague  quest,  I  came  suddenly 
upon  it.  It  was  like  seeing  an  old  friend,  for  some  reason  or 
other,  and  yet  I  had  never  seen  it  before  in  the  concrete. 
There  had  been  a  wholesale  tampering  with  the  lower  story ; 
it  was  no  longer  in  the  stone -tablet  trade,  but  given  over  to 
dealings  in  sailors'  clothing,  marine  stores,  and  bunting  gener- 
ally. The  preserved  part  of  the  front  is  well  worthy  of  study, 
or,  at  least,  inspection,  as  an  example  of  the  stone  fronts  of  its 
period.  It  is  one  of  the  best  specimens  of  its  class  that  I  have 
seen  in  the  Netherlands. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


MIDDELBURG. 


O 


F  all  towns  in  Holland,  I  think — after  seeing  about  fifty 
— Middelburg  is  the  most  peculiarly  representative 
and  Dutch.   It  has  in  it  the  most  charming  examples 


of  architecture  and  costume  that  one  could  wish  to  see.  It  is 
quaint  and  original,  clean  to  a  degree,  well-kept,  and  not  too 
dead  and  gone ;  in  fact,  on  a  market  -  day,  it  is  for  the  time 
being  about  as  lively  and  stirring  a  place  as  one  could  happen 
on  ;  and  they  do  say  that,  on  the  occasion  of  the  annual  ker- 
messe,  which  lasts  about  a  week,  the  great  market-place,  at  night, 
when  the  fun  is  wildest,  is  no  faint  hint  of  a  public  festival  in 
the  regions  down  below.  So  much  of  an  affair  is  it  here  that 
they  talk  of  the  past  one  for  six  months,  and  prepare  for  the 
next  one  during  the  rest  of  the  year. 

In  passing  along  some  of  the  silent,  well-swept  quays,  under 
the  tall  trees,  one  is  struck  by  the  number  of  well-to-do  and  even 
stately  residences,  seemingly  the  homes  of  the  descendants  of 
the  "  merchant  princes "  who  made  their  fortunes  here  when 
Middelburg  had  a  commerce  to  boast  of.  There  were  no  finer 
docks  and  waterways  in  all  the  country,  but,  alas !  fickle  Com- 
merce one  fine  day  found  other  harbors.  The  big  ships  sailed  * 
away  one  by  one  into  the  "  Eternal  Whither,"  and  came  back 
no  more.  The  docks  and  basins  took  on  the  scum  of  idleness, 
busy  shipyards  grew  silent,  and  the  half-finished  hulks  rotted 
where  they  stood.    'Tis  the  fate  of  many  once  thriving  towns  ! 


200 


Out  of  the  Guide-Book. 


But  Middelburg  was  only  sleeping  a  very  long  Rip  Van  Winkle 
drowse,  and  there  was  still  strong  life  in  it  somewhere.  It 
woke  to  energy  and  action  some  fifteen  years  ago.  When 
its  old  neighbor  and  rival,  Flushing,  began  its  splendid  new 
harbors  and  docks  and  station,  high  hopes  were  held  that 
the  new  life-blood  let  into  Flushing  would  revive  the  entire 
Island  of  Walcheren.  Middelburg  "  shook  itself  together  "  for 
the  long-looked-for  return  of  prosperity,  and  new  docks,  canals, 
and  basins  were  made,  big  enough  to  float  the  vast  com- 
merce she  wished  to  see  again  bustling  about  her  long-deserted 
quays. 

But,  sad  to  say,  after  much  outlay  of  money  and  labor,  after 
grand  opening  ceremonies  and  much  kermessing,  coy  Commerce 
came  not,  to  any  great  extent,  to  gladden  the  souls  of  the  good 
burghers,  either  of  Flushing  or  Middelburg.  Let  us  say,  rather, 
that  for  many  years  it  did  not  come.  Just  lately  there  is  a 
better  show  of  shipping  at  both  places.  "  Time  was  "  when  this 
same  Middelburg  was  the  richest,  proudest,  and  most  powerful 
city  in  the  Netherlands.  Its  most  prosperous  times  were  during 
the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries,  when  all  the  wines  of 
France  and  Spain  that  came,  not  only  for  the  entire  country, 
but  for  towns  along  the  Rhine  far  into  Germany,  had  first  to 
pay  duty  here.  There  exist  still  many  relics  of  this  powerful 
"  octroi."  There  is  still  the  "  Rouenische  Kade,"  where  the 
wine-galleons  of  Rouen  disgorged  their  cargoes  and  their  heavy 
customs  duties.  The  wool-staplers  of  England  and  Scotland  had 
also  rich  and  powerful  houses  here  and  at  Veere,  near  by,  under 
the  protection  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  who  married  a  daugh- 
ter of  James  I.  of  Scotland. 

I  am  driven  to  allude  to  these  palpable  guide-book  facts,  as 
they  lead  up  to  certain  other  matters  which  I  wish  to  mention 
presently ;  besides,  it  is  quite  possible  that  there  are  some  remote 


IN  THE  QUADRANGLE  OF  THE  ABBEY. 


Historical  Reflections.  203 

and  untravelled  readers  who  have  never  had  the  supreme  joy  of 
nursing  either  a  "Baedeker"  or  its  red  twin,  "Murray,"  through 
"  Holland  and  Belgium."  Besides,  those  who  have  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  that  addition  to  a  sketchy  education  have  more  than 
likely  mislaid  it  for  the  moment. 

Now,  a  great  assistance  to  any  one's  enjoyment  of  this  charm- 
ing old  town  is  to  "  get  up  "  just  a  little  of  its  past  history  before 
coming  to  it.  Havard  (in  his  "Heart  of  Holland")  tells  one 
just  enough — that  is,  one  who  merely  wishes  to  visit  the  place 
as  a  rambler,  and  not  as  a  student  of  history.  As  for  my  own 
duty  to  my  readers,  I  am  sure  that  they  would  much  sooner 
follow  me  as  a  simple,  wandering  sketcher  than  as  a  more 
vagrant  and  sketchy  historian.  I  know  that  the  history  of 
Zeeland  is  as  tempting  as  a  fairy  tale  —  so  enchanting  that, 
if  once  I  began  it,  there  would  be  no  stopping  me. 

Take  this  same  Isle  of  Walcheren,  for  instance,  just  for  a 
wee  bit.  Before  the  Romans  came  to  civilize  it,  by  fire  and 
sword  and  slavery,  the  country  was  overrun  by  wandering  tribes 
of  Gauls.  It  was  one  dense  forest,  of  such  depths  of  tangle  and 
despair  that  it  was  known  for  centuries  as  "  La  Foret  sans  Pitie." 
What  a  background  for  the  imagination  to  fill,  in  with  wild  pict- 
ures !  What  sirens  rise  up  as  one  goes  on !  WThat  temptations 
to  weave  in  the  thin  gold  threads  of  the  sad  history  of  Jacque- 
line of  Bavaria !  She  was  more  of  a  martyr  than  a  heroine ; 
more  of  a  Fair  Rosamond  than  a  Joan  of  Arc  ;  her  memory  is 
still  a  poem  to  the  good  folks  of  Zeeland.  One  moment's  turn- 
ing aside,  and  I  should  forget  the  things  I  came  to  see  and 
sketch — the  things  of  to-day.  By  the  way,  what  a  spiritual  grind- 
stone it  is  getting  to  be  !  and  how  often  the  spiritual  grinders 
of  small,  even -edged  things  wish  to  bring  every  mortal  face 
sharply  against  it ! 

"Why  don't  you  draw  the  things  of  to-day?    Why  do  you 


Wanderings. 


stray  off  into  the  forgotten  past,  into  fairyland,  into  mythology  ? 
My  quarrel  with  you  is  that  you  don't  do  the  things  you  see 
around  you,"  said,  one  day,  a  critic  of  this  stamp  to  an  artist 
of  the  other. 

"  Nay,  that  is  not  your  quarrel  at  all,"  said  he  of  the  erring- 
pencil.  "  You  wish  me  to  paint  the  things  you  see  about  you, 
which  is  quite  a  different  matter.  Don't  you  suppose  Shake- 
speare saw  Bottom  and  Titania,  Puck  and  Ariel,  as  plainly  as 
you  see  this  brier-root  pipe  ?" 

Which  reminds  me  that,  instead  of  giving  reasons  for  keep- 
ing to  the  "  things  around  me,"  I  am  straying  into  arguments 
that  lead  to  shadowland. 

How  happy  we  three  were  on  our  last  trip,  when  our  only 
historians  were  Motley  (whom  we  knew  only  "  by  sight ")  and 
Jacob,  whom,  if  we  took  at  all,  it  was  with  cellars  full  of  salt! 

It  was  still  early  forenoon,  and  I  was  wandering,  loose  and 
free,  down  and  around  crooked  and  devious  streets,  and  under 
archways  into  blind  alleys,  and  out  of  them  into  wherever  the 
picturesque  led  me,  making  my  way  back  to  the  market-place. 
When  I  wished  to  make  sure  of  my  Town-hall  weathercock,  I 
had  only  to  wait  until  I  came  to  an  intersection  of  a  few  streets 
or  canals,  and  it  would  show  itself.  And  as  its  silvery  carillon 
rang  out  some  small  tinkle  every  seven  minutes,  one  could  not 
well  get  out  of  ear-shot,  if  it  should  happen  to  get  lost  to  view. 
There  were  lots  of  the  picturesque  country  people  about  the 
streets,  and  as  I  followed  stray  groups,  sketching  as  I  walked,  I 
was  led  rather  a  dance.  I  generally  found,  however,  that  no 
matter  how  often  I  lost  sight  of  the  Town-hall,  I  could  always — 
and  did  often,  without  wishing — get  back  to  the  Abbey.  This 
began  to  bother  me,  finally,  for  when  I  had  fairly  started  for  my 
Town-hall  once  or  twice,  and,  losing  sight  of  my  spire  through 
winding,  narrow  short-cuts,  had  found  myself  back  again  every 


Perennial  Costumes. 


205 


time  to  my  starting-point  at  the  Abbey,  I  began  to  say,  "Confound 
this  tiresome  old  relic  of  antiquity,  it  seems  to  be  a  loadstone !" 

As  all  roads  lead  to  Rome,  so  did  they  here  all  tend  to  this 
one  spot.  There  was,  at  first,  only  a  small,  circular  chapel  built, 
and  then  the  great  Abbey  gradually  grew  around  it,  the  village 
grew  around  that,  and  the  city,  finally,  with  its  walls  and  ram- 
parts, grew  around  all.  The  streets  mostly  diverge  from  the 
great  central  church  ;  others  seem  to  wind  themselves  spirally 
about  it,  as  if  planned  by  some  old  monkish  humorist,  to  prevent 
the  people  from  straying  from  the  fold,  even  if  they  wished  to. 
I  think  I  got  that  special  bit  of  street-plan  well  into  my  under- 
standing before  I  got  out  of  the  merry-go-round  of  the  sacred 
precincts.  There  was  no  time  lost,  however.  It  is  mostly  all 
fish  that  comes  into  the  sketcher's  net.  The  Town-hall  looks  all 
the  better  if  it  has  a  foreground  of  the  picturesque  market-day 
people.  By  the  time  I  arrived  there  the  picture  was  complete, 
even  to  an  effect  of  golden  sunlight  struggling  through  the  haze 
of  the  cool  October  forenoon.  Market-day  is  generally  a  holi- 
day as  well,  in  Holland.  On  the  slightest  pretext,  out  come  all 
the  antique  finery  and  all  the  family  jewels;  and  they  wear  them 
in  profusion,  men,  women,  and  children,  in  Zeeland.  They  pile 
on  the  entire  hoard,  on  nearly  every  part  of  their  person  availa- 
ble. The  dress  of  the  Zeelanders  is,  by  far,  the  most  complete 
and  elaborate  to  be  found  in  any  part  of  Holland.  It  is  rarely, 
nowadays,  that  the  men  resist  the  inroads  of  modern  fashion, 
but  here  they  keep  strictly  to  the  costume  of  their  forefathers. 
Nothing  creeps  in  to  mar  its  perfection  ;  it  is  not  worn  only 
in  part ;  it  is  complete,  and  that  seems  to  be  their  pride.  Fash- 
ions may  come  and  go,  but  they  go  on  forever. 

Still,  if  you  take  the  ensemble  of  the  male  "get  up,"  it  is 
rather  mixed  in  periods  and  styles.  The  hat,  one  shape  of  it 
especially — there  are  three  varieties — with  the  universal  cut  of 


206 


Costumes. 


hair  and  the  closely  shaven 
face,  has  a  purely  fifteenth- 
century  effect.  Such  a  num- 
ber did  I  meet  that  reminded 
me  of  the  portraits  of  Louis 
XI.  of  France,  or  certain 
j  '  heads  in  Van  Eyck's  pict- 
ures!  The  shirt- collars,  of- 
ten embroidered  with  black 
lines,  and  fastened  with  large 
gold  button-links,  are  fifteenth 
century,  also.  The  jacket 
seems  to  be  a  survival  of  the 
jerkin  of  two  centuries  later. 
The  velvet  knee-breeches  are 
evidently  a  century  later  still, 
as  the  shoes  are.  The  silver 
buckles  on  the  nether  gar- 
ments are  often  chased  rich- 
ly; while  as  for  the  four  great 
silver  waist-buttons,  or,  rather, 
plates,  that  half  encircle  the 
belt,  embellished  often  with 
Scriptural  subjects  in  repousse, 
there  is  a  vague  sort  of  im- 
pression that  they  must  have 
survived  since  the  wandering 
Gauls  overran  the  islands  of 
Zeeland.  The  other  style  of 
nether  garment  is  short,  wide, 
flowing  velvet  trousers.  On  both  these  there  is  the  same  pro- 
fusion of  silver  plate,  and  both  styles  have  on  either  side,  back 


HOUSE  OF  THE  GOLDEN  SUN. 


Men  and  Women.  207 

of  the  hip,  a  deep,  narrow  pocket.  Exactly  where  the  wild  Tex- 
an Ranger  secludes  his  revolver  the  Zeelander  carries  his  brace 
of  sheath-knives.  They  are  about  the  size  and  shape  and  use- 
fulness of  the  sort  of  knife  that  one  takes  to  a  good-sized  ham. 
The  handles  are  often  of  richly  chased  silver,  or  the  more  mod- 
est boxwood,  carved  in  quaint  old  design.  These  murderous 
implements,  I  need  not  say,  are  carried  more  to  complete  the 
costume  of  the  country  than  for  actual  service,  though  they 
do  say  that  every  proper  Zeelander  knows  well  how  to  use 
them  in  case  of  need.  We  all  know  how  unhappy  the  most 
amiable  full-dressed  Highlander  would  be  without  a  few  dirks 
about  his  girdle,  and  at  least  one  handy  in  his  garter.  So 
doth  the  genial  Zeeland  peasant  sport  his  pair  of  carvers,  not 
necessarily  to  use  on  a  friend,  but  rather  on  his  bread  and 
cheese. 

The  men  are  a  strongly  built  race,  with  clean-cut,  serious 
features,  bright,  dark  eyes,  that  look  through  you,  and  yet  kind- 
ly enough  natured  I  found  them,  for  all  their  stern  looks.  The 
women  are  very  bonny  now  and  then ;  a  bright,  clear  complex- 
ion, rosy  and  fresh  and  strong,  and  as  much  given  to  smiles  and 
levity  as  the  men  are  to  grimness  and  gravity.  -  Of  course,  I  am 
still  speaking  of  the  country  people,  for  even  the  peasantry  are 
extremely  well-to-do. 

The  towns-people  are  like  nearly  all  town  people  the  world 
over — just  one  regulation  pattern,  as  if  clad  by  the  same  tailors, 
"as  per  sample."  But,  in  towns  like  Middelburg,  the  servants  are 
often  from  the  country  round  about,  and  they  keep  to  their  cos- 
tume religiously.  I  was  buying  some  gold  head-gear  here,  such 
as  they  sell  to  the  country  girls,  and,  wishing  to  find  out  how  it 
should  be  put  on,  the  jeweller  called  in  his  servant  from  her 
window-splashing,  who  took  off  her  own  corkscrews  and  dang- 
ling disks  of  gold  —  much  more  gorgeous  than  those  I  was 


208 


The  Council-Chamber. 


bargaining  for — and,  with  a  certain  air  of  condescension,  tried 
on  for  me  my  simpler  arrangement. 

The  "  attitude,"  so  to  speak,  of  the  Zeelander  is  more  digni- 
fied and  proud  than  in  most  parts  of  Holland ;  in  fact,  I  doubt 
if,  in  all  Europe,  you  will  find  people  with  more  of  the  air 
of  the  "  grand  seigneur "  about  them.  Indeed,  I  have  heard 
that  the  air  of  repose  about  some  of  the  old  Dutch  towns  is 
not  stagnation,  from  their  point  of  view;  it  is  what  they  ad- 
mire. They  don't  wish  to  bustle,  or  be  bustled  about.  They  are 
all  as  rich  as  they  care  to  be,  and  they  don't  want  to  be  any  hap- 
pier. When  a  stray  tourist  arrives  at  one  of  their  old-fashioned 
inns  he  is  made  to  feel  that  he  is  only  entertained  as  a  favor, 
and  that  they  don't  really  want  him. 

In  Middelburg,  however,  there  is  a  certain  movement  that 
looks  like  a  lingering  love  of  trade.  The  shops  are  numerous 
and  good — most  of  them,  as  usual,  for  the  sale  of  finery  and 
confectionery. 

There  was  a  constant  fascination  in  and  about  the  old  Town- 
hall  for  me.  The  outside  is  very  perfect,  from  door-scraper  to 
the  gold  weathercock.  Built  by  a  Burgundian  architect,  in  1468, 
it  is  more  French  than  Flemish  or  Dutch  in  character.  At  the 
butchers'  stalls,  in  one  corner  of  the  building,  the  set-out  of  the 
meat,  the  chopping-blocks  and  hooks,  and  the  general  arrange- 
ments of  the  place  give  one  a  perfect  picture  of  the  shambles  and 
fleshers'  stalls  of  the  latter  part  of  the  fifteenth  century.  The  in- 
side of  the  building,  I  grieve  to  say,  has  not  quite  escaped  the  de- 
mon of  modern  improvement.  The  fine  old  council-chamber,  how- 
ever, has  been  preserved  pretty  much  in  its  original  form.  They 
do  say  that  the  sketch  for  the  council-chamber  scene  in  "  The 
Bells,"  as  played  by  the  Irving  company,  was  taken  from  this 
very  quaint  old  room.  Holland  is  rich  in  old  council-chambers, 
and  there  are  few  finer  than  this  and  the  one  at  Veere — or,  rather, 


Fine  Old  Forfaits. 


209 


than  the  Veere  one  was,  before  they  took  down  the  bronze  hands. 
There  is  a  most  interesting  collection  of  antiquities  in  this  Mid- 
delburg  Town-hall,  filling  several  rooms,  mostly  with  objects  con. 
nected  with  the  history  of  Zeeland.  There  are,  among  other 
things,  the  grand  old  feasting-batteries  of  the  various  guilds  and 
corporations ;  tankards  and  beakers  and  dishes  of  gold  and  sil- 
ver ;  plates  and  trenchers  of  pewter  and  quaint  old  Delft ;  gob- 
lets of  glass  of  Venice  and  Bohemia ;  corporation  seals,  medals, 
and  badges ;  flags,  banners,  and  pennons ;  warlike  weapons  of 
every  period  ;  old  instruments  of  music ;  books,  parchments, 
and  views  of  old  towns ;  plans  and  maps ;  pictures  of  pageants 
and  ceremonies,  many  of  them  showing  bygone  festivities  at 
this  same  old  burg.  But  most  interesting  to  us  were  the 
several  fine  old  guild  and  corporation  pictures,  some  on  the 
same  scale,  and  in  manner  of  treatment  like  those  that  Franz 
Hals  and  Van  der  Heist  painted  so  gloriously  years  after  these 
were  done.  These  have  a  certain  charm  of  grim  sincerity  and 
naivete  which  the  others,  with  all  their  magisterial  grandeur,  lack. 
The  portraits  of  the  leading  worthies  in  the  guilds  of  wine- 
coopers  and  wine-merchants  are  most  vigorous,  and  "  personal," 
in  the  last  degree,  to  every  defect  or  merit  of  the  originals. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


JACOB'S  RETURN. 

TO  entirely  enjoy  the  grand  corporation  and  guild  por- 
traiture of  Rembrandt,  Hals,  and  Van  der  Heist,  the 
art  student  should  see  these  curiously  fine  examples 
of  an  earlier  and  kindred  school.  This  was  my  second  visit 
to  them,  and  they  seemed  even  better  than  at  first,  when  we 
all  but  screamed  with  joy  at  our  discovery.  I  also  remember 
how  Jacob  came  down  to  solid  facts  at  once,  while  our  delight 
was  still  gushing,  by  assuring  us  that  though  that  grand 
old  race  of  wine  -  merchants  and  their  monopolies  had  gone 
("  where  the  woodbine  twineth,"  let  us  hope),  there  was  still, 
here  and  there,  such  splendid  old  Burgundy  in  Middelburg — to 
keep  up  the  tradition  of  some  of  the  ancient  houses,  so  to 
speak  —  "Well,  if  you  carry  some  of  dot  old  wine  droo  de 
churchyard  at  night,  you  not  pe  zafe ;  de  spooks  get  out  of  deir 
grave  and  follow  you." 

Ingenuous  old  boy !  The  thought  of  him  at  that  moment 
suggested  "  Why  not  ?"  I  was  getting  rather  depressed ;  I  felt 
that,  somehow,  I  had  the  whole  weight  of  the  fallen  fortunes 
of  Zeeland  on  my  soul ;  that  I  ought  to  be  able  to  suggest  some 
scheme  that  would  bring  back  its  former  grandeur,  and  was 
either  a  fool  or  a  craven  for  not  setting  about  it  at  once.  Even 
when  the  polite  custodian  offered  to  show  me  the  dungeon 
and  the  various  instruments  of  mediaeval  torture — rack,  wheel, 
thumbscrew,  and  spiked  collar — even  offering  to  show  me  how 


REMBRANDT  WE  RECALL. 


Jacob's  Reflections.  213 

they  worked  (without  the  victim,  naturally),  my  mind  was  far 
away.  I  knew  Jacob's  address.'  "  No,  thank  you ;  no  more 
rack  or  thumbscrew  to-day.  How  far  is  the  telegraph  office  ? 
Round  the  corner?  Good-morning."  And  in  five  minutes  I 
had  wired  to  that  faithful  henchman  of  last  year  to  meet  me  by 
next  train  from  Amsterdam. 

I  made  a  few  pencillings  in  a  loungey  way  towards  the  ho- 
tel, and  then  turned  in  for  luncheon  —  not  a  bad  forenoon's 
work — and  a  fine  appetite.  There  was  my  little  table,  with  the 
convert  laid,  and  Jacob's  reply  beside  my  plate.  He  would  be 
with  me  by  the  night  train.  I  felt  a  certain  load  off  my  mind. 
At  early  morn  I  had  almost  decided  to  do  Holland  this  time 
without  him ;  but,  as  incident  after  incident  of  the  Faithful 
One's  usefulness  and  cheery  qualities  came  to  my  mind,  I  could 
not  resist  him. 

Dutch  is  such  an  awful  language  to  be  left  all  earthly  alone 
w7ith  !  You  can  never  believe  that  the  people  are  likely  to  un- 
derstand the  hideous  gurgles  and  croaks  you  are  preparing  back 
of  your  throat  just  before  you  utter  them.  And  yet,  if  they 
would  try  not  to  disguise  the  spelling,  there  is  much  that  is  good 
English  about  the  Dutch  language,  especially  about  the  Frisian 
variety.  It  was  a  gushing  scene,  our  meeting  at  the  windy  rail- 
way station  near  to  midnight.  There  was  such  effusion  of  greet- 
ing, such  display  of  "  fatted  calf "  at  supper  afterward,  that  the 
wondering  natives  must  have  thought  that  I  was  in  some  man- 
ner celebrating  the  Return  of  a  Prodigal  Father — or  uncle. 

"  I  was  yoost  at  de  delekraf  office  by  de  'otel  wiz  a  barty 
of  dourist  to  zee  de  windmills  of  Zaandam.  Zo  I  'ands  ofer  de 
barty  to  a  vriendt,  and  I  zay  to  myzalif,  1  You  may  all  go  to 
Yaricho !'  and  puts  some  cloze  in  my  pag,  and  I  yumps  in  de 
drain,  an'  here  I  am.  We  have  a  good  time  again,  I  bets  to 
myzalif  as  I  comes  along." 


2I4 


Veere. 


I  then  unfolded  to  Jacob  my  little  idea,  which  was,  to  take 
a  trap  in  the  morning  and  drive  as  far  as  we  could  around  the 
sea  edge  of  the  island,  if  the  day  promised  to  be  fine ;  rainy 
days  to  be  kept  for  in-door  exploring.  The  morrow  was  a  per- 
fect thing  of  its  kind  —  a  hazy,  cool  October  morning.  The 
trap,  a  towering  landau,  with  a  strong  team,  and  rueful  driver, 
was  soon  ready,  and  we  were  rattling  over  the  long  stretch  of 
well-paved  brick  road  towards  Veere.  The  whole  face  of  nat- 
ure had  a  wet,  shiny  look,  as  if  it  had  been  drenched  down, 
Dutch  fashion,  with  plentiful  buckets  of  water  over-night. 

The  landscape  stretched  before  us,  steaming  and  glistening 
in  the  morning  sun.  I  tried  to  interest  Jacob  in  effects  of 
misty  sunrise.  "Oh,  dot's  de  doo;  dot  is  not  rain  last  night. 
De  doo  she  is  varry  strong  here.  Dot  shows  a  good  deal  of 
ague  about,  dose  doo."  I  then  tried  to  lure  Jacob  into  statis- 
tics— the  relative  amount  of  ague  to  the  square  Dutchman,  etc. 
— but  that  wary  worthy  so  mixed  his  figures  with  saving  "  excep- 
tions "  —  viz.,  schnapps  and  smoking  as  preventives  —  that  we 
came  to  no  conclusion,  except  that,  were  it  not  for  schnapps  and 
maag-bitter,  the  average  Zeelander  would  be  shaken  off  the 
face  of  the  islands.  Beguiling  the  time  with  much  informa- 
tion that  "  went  in  one  ear  and  out  the  other,"  we  soon  came 
to  Veere.  We  drove  to  a  small,  neat,  anxious  inn,  with  the 
very  un- Dutch  name  of  the  Hotel  Rolandi.  They  seemed 
much  more  pleased  to  see  us  than  the  Tower  Inn  landlady 
last  year,  who  did  not  care  to  take  us,  as  we  were  "  strangers.1' 
We  strolled  on  to  the  Town-hall,  and  saw  the  newly  arranged 
museum  In  it — a  gaunt,  bare,  upper  room — well  meant  enough, 
the  whole  thing,  on  the  part  of  the  new  burgomaster  and  coun- 
cil, but  what  demon  of  bad  taste  possessed  them  to  denude  the 
fine  old  council-chamber  of  many  objects  that  made  it  the  most 
unique  room  of  its  kind  in  Europe  ?    The  bronze  fists  were 


The  Town  Hall.  215 


VEERE. 


taken  down  from  the  chimney-breast,  where  they  had  hung  for 
centuries  as  a  warning  to  traitors,  and  were  ticketed  away  in 
a  glass  show-case,  with  stupid  odds  and  ends  lying  about  them, 
spread  out  flat  on  the  rawest  of  white  paper.  The  council- 
chamber  was  not  to  be  seen,  as  the  council  was  in  session.  I 
should  have  liked  to  take  that  fine  example  of  a  Zeeland 
pocket  carver,  and  make  a  collection  of  various  ears  to  keep  the 
fists  company.  I  lost  all  interest  in  the  rest  of  the  treasures. 
Even  the  great  gold  cup  palled  upon  me.  To  do  the  place 
justice,  however,  the  Town-hall  is  still  worth  seeing,  all  the  same. 

The  sapient  council  seems  to  have  taken  the  old  town  in 
hand  too,  and  furbished  it  up  for  stray  visitors.  The  streets 
looked  cleaner,  the  houses  more  cheerful,  and  the  cobwebby 
little  shops  seemed  to  have  a  fresh  supply  of  tinned  mysteries 
from  Chicago.  Here,  now,  is  a  town  with  a  history  to  wring 
tears.  Some  centuries  ago  it  was  called  Kamp-veer,  being  then 
the  ferrying -place  to  an  opposite  town  of  importance  called 
Kampen.    But  one  awful  night  Kampen  disappeared  entirely 


2l6 


Poor  Foundations. 


from  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  simply  "  slumped,"  as  they  say 
in  the  far  West,  beneath  the  waters  and  mud  that  ingulfed  it. 
There  being  no  longer  any  Kampen  to  ferry  to,  this  town  was 
then  called  merely  Veere,  and,  as  the  situation  was  good  for 
trade,  though  of  treacherous  foundation  otherwise,  it  grew  and 
grew,  rich  and  prosperous  and  famous.  It  even  used  to  do 
battle  with  Middelburg  in  good  mediaeval  fashion  over  certain 
rights  to  tolls  and  customs.  At  one  time  there  were  two  great 
sea-towers — the  one  remaining  being  the  lesser — and  a  goodly 
portion  of  the  trading  part  of  the  town  was  across  the  harbor, 
about  the  great  tower.  One  wild  night  of  tempest  and  earth- 
quake shook  the  island  again,  and  when  morning  broke  there 
was  no  opposite  tower  nor  sister  town  nor  townspeople  to  be 
seen.  The  muddy  sea  swirled  about  over  all  as  if  they  had 
never  been.  No  wonder  that  the  remaining  portion  of  the 
town  took  a  discouraged  view  of  the  situation,  and  moved 
itself  to  a  land  of  greater  stability.  This  cruel  chapter  in  the 
history  of  Veere  is  even  more  complete  in  the  history  of  many 
of  the  lost  towns  and  islands  of  Holland. 

On  some  of  the  very  old  maps  there  are  places  marked 
down  where  towns  of  some  importance  flourished,  there  are 
roads  traced  through  prosperous  lands,  there  are  islands  named, 
and  that  is  all  that  remains  of  them,  this  trace  on  the  maps  and 
the  mention  in  old  chronicles.  The  sea  has,  on  one  tempes- 
tuous night  or  another,  swept  all  beneath  its  waters.  It  gives 
one  a  feeling,  even  to-day,  of  a  shifting  foothold.  It  is  a  long 
time  ago ;  but,  if  history  takes  to  repeating  itself,  one  feels 
most  cheerful  here  who  reads  the  least  of  the  sea's  doings  in 
ages  gone  by.  We  found  little  of  fresh  interest  in  Veere,  and, 
with  some  small  feeling  of  misgiving  appropriate  to  the  lo- 
cality, we  bade  adieu  to  a  place  of  such  shaky  antecedents. 


TOWN-HALL,  VEERE. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


DOMBURG  AND  THE  DIKES. 

SKIRTING  away  along  the  dikes,  we  had  a  good  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  some  of  the  incessant  toil,  some  of  the 
constant  engineering  and  battling  writh  the  sea,  to  keep 
it  at  anything  like  a  safe  distance.  The  dikes  about  this  isl- 
and are,  perhaps,  the  finest,  the  most  constantly  guarded,  in  all 
the  country.  The  dike -workers  are  a  distinct  class,  a  guild, 
in  fact,  jealous  of  their  craft,  and  its  rights  and  privileges.  It 
is  not  the  first-comer  who  may  be  a  regular  dike-worker,  even 
if  he  wish  to  be.  We  saw  great  gangs  of  them  going  from 
point  to  point  with  pick  and  shovel,  ever  on  the  lookout  for 
weak  spots  in  the  great  embankment,  ever  refacing  it  with 
miles  of  concrete,  and  strengthening  every  point  with  strong 
groins  running  into  the  sea. 

It  was  almost  pathetic  to  note  with  what  solicitude  every 
blade  of  the  binding  bent-grass  was  coaxed  to  grow.  Every  lit- 
tle tuft  was  watched  and  tended  as  if  it  were  some  choice  tulip. 
The  top  of  the  dike  formed  a  level,  firm  road,  stretching  away 
for  miles.  The  sea  looked  so  mild  and  gray  and  innocent,  as  it 
gently  lapped  the  edges  of  the  mighty  barriers,  that  it  was  only 
by  an  effort  that  one  could  fancy  it  an  enemy  capable  of  mischief. 
The  breezes  were  simply  delicious  and  fresh,  coming  over  the  wide 
North  Sea.  Inland  the  scenery  was  flat  and  grim  and  serious. 
Farmsteads  in  the  far  distance  looked  green  and  fat  enough. 
Sheep  and  kine  were  numerous  in  the  rich  fields.    Just  over  the 


220 


Westhoeven. 


edge  of  the  dikes  were  the  little  scattered  hamlets  of  the  fisher 
people  and  the  polder-men.  The  dike-workers  lived  a  good  deal 
of  a  roving  life,  camping  out  here  and  there,  as  their  work  called 
them  from  one  point  to  another.  Sometimes  the  wind  had  blown 
up,  and  the  seas  tossed  up,  great  long  meandering  mounds  of 
sand,  helping  to  back  and  strengthen  the  dikes.  On  these  bil- 
lowy hillocks  the  grass  was  carefully  planted  in  little  regular 
tufts,  and  stunted  pines  were  set  wherever  the  tempest  would 
spare  them  to  grow.  All  sorts  of  binding  vegetation  were  care, 
fully  protected.  The  very  children  knew  enough  to  let  it  alone. 
Just  before  reaching  Domburg  one  drives  through  the  domain 
of  Westhoeven,  and  past  the  old  chateau.  The  building  dates 
back,  parts  of  it,  to  the  fifteenth  century,  but  it  has  all  been  so 
restored  and  villa-fied  that  it  might  be  anything.  Oak-panelled 
rooms  have  been  painted,  and  others  depanelled,  and  papered 
with  French  arsenical  papers.  French  windows  have  been  cut 
in  down  to  the  ground.  Ah  me !  It  was  unoccupied,  and  we 
got  permission  to  go  over  it.  What  a  place  it  must  have  been 
before  the  restorer  and  villa-fier  came !  It  was  bright,  and  open, 
and  airy,  but  crude  enough  to  set  one's  teeth  on  edge.  The  last 
of  its  race  of  occupiers  had  given  ft  up,  and  it  was  to  have  been 
pulled  down  to  save  property  tax.  Some  kind,  enthusiastic  lady, 
with  the  money  to  indulge  the  whim,  bought  it  for  a  song,  to 
save  it,  if  only  as  a  relic.  The  whole  place  has  been  made  damp 
and  dank,  like  too  many  places,  not  only  in  Holland,  but  else- 
where, by  overwhelming  it  with  dense,  lofty  trees.  There  was 
no  chance  for  the  free  air  and  sun  to  warm  the  damp  out  of  it, 
and  let  the  fresh  air  put  life  into  it.  If  the  lady  be  wise  she  will 
cut  down  most  of  the  trees  for  timber,  and  make  the  house 
habitable.  The  old  gardener  who  showed  the  place  seemed 
tumbling  to  pieces  with  ague.  If  he  had  been  soaked  all  night 
in  the  slimy  green  water  of  the  moat,  he  could  not  have  looked 


CHATEAU  OF  WESTHOEVEN. 


In  and  About  Domburg. 


223 


more  damp  and  clammy.  It  was  a  relief  to  get  out  of  the 
dense,  chill  park  into  the  breezy  sunshine  again. 

After  a  short  drive  we  came  upon  the  fashionable  sea-side 
resort  of  Domburg,  where  we  stopped  for  luncheon.  It  is  here 
that,  in  the  season,  one  will  find  the  elite  of  Zeeland.  We  found 
nobody  whatever,  as  the  season  had  just  closed.  The  air  is 
magnificent,  and  the  sea  pure  and  uncontaminated  with  sew- 
age from  the  little  village.  The  scenery  is  severe  and  simple 
— mostly  sand-dunes,  with  sparse  tufts  of  bent-grass,  and  little 
nooks  of  stunted,  shrivelled,  inland-blown  trees.  There  are  a 
couple  of  hotels ;  one,  the  Bad  Hotel,  kept  by  the  proprietor  of 
the  Doelan,  at  Middelburg,  very  comfortable  indeed.  There  are 
a  few  modern  villas  and  shops,  and,  for  the  rest,  it  is  a  queer, 
clean  little  fishing-village — a  perfect  place  for  the  sketcher  of 
picturesque  children.  I  think  I  never  saw  such  a  lot  of  good 
material  in  so  small  a  place.  I  remarked  one  very  delightful  old 
house  and  garden,  with  a  mossy  old  brick  wall  and  a  gateway, 
with  flourishing  iron-work  figures.  Domburg  is  no  new  upstart 
as  a  bathing-place.  There  are  Roman  remains,  suggesting  that 
those  astute  old  bathers  knew  all  about  it,  and  had,  perhaps,  a 
"  Bad  Hotel"  of  their  own  when  they  occupied- this  part  of  Zee- 
land.  I  felt,  as  we  drove  away,  that  I  could  gladly  have  stayed 
on  a  week,  and  rather  have  enjoyed  the  deserted  village,  emptied 
of  its  summer  elite.  Marking  it  down  in  my  memory  as  a  good 
place  to  revisit,  we  again  took  the  sandy,  embanked  road. 

We  stopped  to  rest  the  horses  and  refresh  our  melancholy 
driver,  at  West  Kappel,  which  I  remembered  as  the  locale  of  the 
play  of  "Annie  Mie,"  given  by  the  Dutch  company  with  such 
success,  some  four  years  ago,  in  London,  and  afterwards  done 
in  English,  with  less  effect  than  it  deserved.  It  was  a  most 
truthful  and  interesting  study  of  these  quaint  people,  well  worth 
the  seeing. 


224 


West  Kappel  and  Zoutland. 


It  was  here  that  we  noticed  the  greatest  number  of  dike- 
workers  and  polder-men,  and  it  is  just  about  here  that  the  whole 
science  is  at  its  best  development ;  so  that  if  any  one  should  feel 
an  interest  in  this  one  peculiar  expression  of  Dutch  genius,  this 
is  the  favored  spot.  The  sketching  is  well  worth  while — it  is 
stern  and  serious  enough,  in  all  conscience — there  is  little  frivol- 
ity of  archaic  costume  about  these  sea-tanned  dike-men,  or  even 
their  womenkind,  or  children.    The  archaism  in  dress  is  only 


WEST  KAPPEL. 


among  the  well-to-do  rustics.  The  road  between  West  Kappel 
and  Zoutland  keeps  more  down  behind  the  dikes,  along  the 
country  roads,  past  farmsteads,  and  through  grazing  lands.  The 
sheep  seem  to  be  more  of  the  black-faced,  smaller  breed  than  one 
finds  farther  north.  The  villages  are  neat  and  tidy  enough,  but 
there  is  always  a  curious  mixture  of  the  fishing  and  farming  ele- 
ment in  them.  We  stopped  again  at  Zoutland,  and  climbed  to 
the  top  of  the  dunes  to  look  about  us,  and  sniff  the  sea-breeze. 


The  Dike-  Watchers. 


225 


Down  far  below  us  lay  the  village — so  far  that  had  the  waters 
swept  over  the  rim  of  sandy  dike,  the  sea  would  have  only 
reached  its  level  when  it  played  about  the  tail  of  the  weather- 
cock on  the  gray  old  church-tower.  There  are  watchers  ever  on 
the  lookout,  day  and  night,  calm  and  storm.  No  wonder  that 
the  set,  anxious  look  one  sees  on  every  face,  that  seems  to  be 
born  with  every  babe,  should  be  the  only  characteristic  expres- 
sion one  remarks  among  the  people  here. 

When  the  watchers  of  the  dikes  see  danger,  the  alarm-bell  is 
rung,  and  every  soul  either  flies  to  the  dikes  for  safety,  or  to 
help  the  gangs  of  workers  to  stop  the  threatened  breach.  All 
was  calm  enough  at  the  moment,  the  tide  was  far  out,  and  yet 
the  village  seemed  much  below  its  level.  The  cottage-window 
lights  were  twinkling  in  the  gloom,  as  evening  was  just  coming 
on.  The  church  bell  was  tolling  for  service,  and  the  warm 
glow  of  sunset  just  touched  the  top  of  its  tower.    Through  the 


VILLAGE  BEHIND  THE  DIKES. 

15 


226 


So /em  7i  Considerations. 


tall  lancet  windows  one  could  see  a  flush  of  warm  lamplight 
within.  All  sounds  and  sights  were  of  peace  and  calm,  and  yet 
there  somehow  came  upon  the  imagination  the  grim  reverse  of 
the  picture:  the  clanging  alarm-bell,  the  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
the  wild  fight  for  safety  from  the  mad,  hungry  sea.  We  felt 
deadly  oppressed  by  the  prevailing  seriousness  of  the  place. 
Jacob  was  no  relief ;  his  most  cheerful  theme  was  still  fever  and 
ague.  He  drew  bright  pictures  of  most  enchanting  regions  in 
Holland  and  elsewhere,  to  lure  me  away.  I  must  admit  that  the 
air  was  chill  and  damp  as  we  drove  home  in  the  gloom,  and  that 
"  de  doo  "  was  falling  heavily,  and  that  the  sea-mist  would  drift 
past  us  in  damp,  ghostly  shreds  when  we  passed  a  depression  in 
the  dunes.  How  damp  and  cheerless  the  houses,  even  the  best 
of  them,  looked  in  the  soppy  hollows  where  the  lush  meadows 
were  richest !  The  hayricks  seemed  like  great  toadstools. 
There  was  a  cold,  soaked  look  and  feel  to  everything.  We 
blessed  our  thick  ulsters,  and  cheered  ourselves  with  thoughts  of 
a  good  warm  supper.  The  mention  of  hot  supper  was  the  only 
theme  that  brought  a  passing  smile  to  Jacob's  damp  visage,  and 
he  translated  the  idea  fo  the  damp,  silent  driver,  who  translated 
it  to  the  team  by  a  liberal  application  of  whip-lash,  which  soon, 
but  not  a  moment  too  soon,  brought  us  to  the  pleasant  reality. 
"  Py  Chove,  we  are  well  out  of  dot  akue,"  said  the  Faithful  One, 
as  he  sat  him  down  to  the  promised  "  fat  of  the  land." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


GOES,  AND  ELSEWHERE. 

I GOT  out  the  last  written  "suggestions"  of  the  absent  one 
who  had  gone  on  before,  and  found  something  about  a 
"  stunning  old  cabinet "  in  a  bric-a-brac  shop  at  Goes,  a 
few  miles  from  Middelburg;  information  also  anent  "an  antique 
clock,  a  mediaeval  cradle,  and  an  archaic  spinning-wheel,"  to 
be  had  for  various  "songs"  in  another  shop  down  a  certain 
street  round  a  canal,  etc.  There  being  other  enticements  about 
Goes  far  beyond  the  bric-a-brac,  we  settled  to  q;o  there  the  next 
day.  We  could  drive,  but  it  would  be  a  long  and  costly  affair, 
besides  being  uninteresting;  better  go  and  come  back  by  train, 
for  a  few  florins.  And,  as  I  had  seen  about  enough  of  soppy 
farms  and  dripping  trees  to  last  me  at  least  a  week,  I  readily 
yielded.  It  had  been  a  good,  long,  tiring  day,  and  the  joys 
and  pleasures  of  it  were  in  very  low  relief  compared  with  the 
prominence  of  the  mole -hills  of  discomfort,  which  had  been 
damply  swollen  to  imaginary  mountains  for  the  moment.  On 
the  bright,  breezy  morrow  I  remembered  the  discomforts  with  a 
certain  grim  pleasure,  and  the  pleasures  I  could  scarcely  remem- 
ber at  all,  they  were  so  like  other  and  better  ones.  As  an  intro- 
duction to  a  romantic  mediaeval  town,  a  modern  railwav  station 
is  about  the  most  illusion-dispelling  device  possible.  One  should 
enter  over  an  ancient  bridge,  or  under  the  arch  of  an  old  water- 
gate  ;  anything  is  better  than  giving  up  the  same  form  of  ticket 
to  be  snipped  by  a  station-master  in  the  same  dress  that  one  finds 


228 


Chicago  Bric-a-brac. 


everywhere ;  and  then  to  go  up  an  arid,  cindery  road,  past  the 
toadstool  growth  of  pot-houses  and  restaurants  that  crop  up 
round  every  railway  station.  I  was  tempted  to  shut  my  eyes,  and 
give  my  hand  to  Jacob,  and  say,  "  Lead  me  past  all  these  utilities 
of  our  glorious  present,  to  the  old  church  in  the  market  square, 
and  when  we  are  well  within  its  portal  I  will  look  about  me." 

As  it  was,  I  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  had  still  my  sol- 
emn duty  towards  the  well-meaning  fiend,  who  will  exact,  to  the 
last  dead  cat  in  the  gutter,  "  the  things  I  ought  to  see  about 
me."  So  I  made  mental  notes  of  the  sodden  little  drinking- 
booths,  with  their  soppy  gardens  surrounded  with  weedy  moats, 
the  necks  of  broken  bottles  jagging  through  the  duck-weed  and 
floating  debris  of  paper  bun-bags  and  orange-peel,  besides  other 
nameless  things  I  did  not  linger  to  define.  I  saw  the  great 
modern  iron  building  that  houses  a  hoard  of  agricultural  imple- 
ments—  mowers  and  threshers  and  reapers,  adapted  to  steam, 
horse,  and  human  power.  I  even  went  with  the  worldly-minded 
Jacob  to  have  a  nearer  view  of  them.  It  was  with  pride  that  I 
pointed  out  to  him  that  they  came  from  the  United  States 
mostly,  especially  those  painted  a  very  raw  blue  or  an  eye-peeling 
red.  We  got  so  lost  in  contemplation  of  their  limb-amputating 
charms  that  we  almost  left  a  few  fingers  behind  in  seeing  how 
they  worked.  The  old  church  and  square  came  afterwards;  as 
it  might  to  the  gaze  of.  the  average,  modern  -  minded  Cook's 
tripper,  they  looked  out  of  date  and  paralyzed.  After  so  many 
mowing-machines,  I  fancied  myself  in  some  back  street  of  Chi- 
cago. It  was  an  effort  to  get  the  proper  feeling  back.  "  Let 
us,  then,  go,  Jacob,  and  look  up  the  bric-a-brac.  The  pungent 
odors  of  must  and  rust  that  haunt  the  marts  of  the  antique  will 
put  past  us  the  newly  painted  smells  of  the  patent  threshers." 

It  was  a  poor,  low,  dingy  mart  of  bric-a-brac  that  we  found  as 
the  home  of  the  wonderful  cabinet.    I  was  shy  of  inquiring  di- 


A  Frustrated  Bargain. 


229 


rectly  for  it,  as  that  would  at  once  enhance  its  value  tenfold.  So 
we  threaded  our  way  through  heaps  and  tottering  mounds  of  ill- 
made,  ill-fated,  for-rent-distrained-looking,  modern  household  dis- 
jecta membra,  smelling  more  of  the  mould  and  mice  and  black 
beetle  of  to-day  than  of  any  quality  of  the  past.  Let  me  not  de- 
spise them  entirely.  How  the  passionate  lover  of  "  things  about 
him  "  would  adore  the  entire  sordid  heap ! 

The  cabinet  appearing  not,  we  asked  for  cabinets  in  the  ab- 
stract, though  that  was  a  dangerous  thing  to  do.  They  had 
some  splendid  ones  "  at  the  shop ;"  and  when  the  shop  was 
reached,  and  the  father  had  been  brought  from  the  tavern  with 
the  key,  we  were  shown  the  wondrous  cabinets.  They  were 
aged  and  infirm  enough,  and,  to  speak  truly,  devoid  of  much 
interest  or  value.  I  could  hardly  think  that  my  information 
applied  to  these  few  ramshackle  specimens.  Jacob  let  the  cat 
out  by  direct  inquiry.  "  Yes,  these  were  the  very  ones  that  two 
strange  gentlemen  saw  the  week  before."  And  then  the  excite- 
ment began  to  increase.  We  had  evidently  been  put  upon  the 
scent  of  these  cabinets,  and,  naturally,  they  were  of  enormous 
value.  The  beery  father  was  sent  out  by  the  mother  to  look  for 
the  more  sober  son,'  who  presently  came  with  the  painfully  wide- 
awake daughter,  and  the  combined  intelligence  set  itself  to  make 
the  best  bargain  possible.  It  was  a  sad  blow  to  find  that  I  did 
not  care  to  buy  their  rickety  treasure,  after  all.  Of  course, 
they  thought  this  a  ruse  on  my  part,  to  undervalue  what  I  was 
dying  to  get.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  get  away  decently  with- 
out investing  in  something.  I  could  scarcely  believe  this  com- 
monplace affair  to  be  the  cabinet  I  had  been  advised  to  see.  It 
looked  more  like  an  affair  that  one  would  be  told  to  avoid.  I 
asked  for  a  description  of  my  friends,  and  they  told  of  tall,  portly 
men,  with  sandy  whiskers  and  projecting  teeth,  clad  in  suits  of 
vivid  plaid.    I  at  once  recognized  the  well-known  caricature  of 


2  3° 


An  Auction. 


the  conventional  English  traveller.  So  did  Jacob,  who  was  soon 
up  to  the  merits  of  the  situation.  I  should  have  preferred  to 
go  quietly  away  with  a  pleasant  excuse,  but  Jacob  allowed  his 
virtuous  indignation  to  boil  over.  He  proceeded  to  denounce 
the  beery  father  in  round,  billowy  Dutch ;  he  lectured  the  pale, 
anxious  mother,  and  moralized  to  the  son  and  daughter  in  good 
set  terms.  It  was  no  easy  thing  to  get  him  away.  We  did 
not  seek  the  other  bric-a-brac  shop  just  then,  preferring  to  let 
it  discover  itself  in  the  course  of  our  rambles.  The  church  is, 
like  most  of  the  old  churches  on  the  islands,  many  times  too  vast 
for  the  present  congregation.  Whatever  beauty  it  might  have 
had  at  one  time  was  now  so  "  restored  "  out  of  it  that  it  was 
little  better  than  a  whited  sepulchre  inside. 

Only  a  part  of  it,  as  usual,  was  used  for  service.  I  could 
not  help  wondering  if  the  old — very  old — worshippers  did  not 
finally  weary  of  the  smell  of  damp  whitewash.  Even  the  limp, 
snuffy  old  sexton  who  showed  us  about  did  not  linger  very 
fondly  over  its  beauties,  but  hastened  to  get  it  over,  and  possess 
his  little  coin. 

There  was  a  very  rollicky  sort  of  an  antique  hostelry  near 
by.  It  was  filled  with  country  people ;  and,  indeed,  half  the 
townspeople  seemed  to  have  congregated  there  for  some  fes- 
tive purpose.  It  was  not  market-day,  as  the  square  was  silent 
and  deserted ;  all  the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  town  appeared  to 
have  been  swept  into  this  place.  Jacob  soon  found  out  the  rea- 
son why. 

There  was  an  auction  sale  going  on  in  the  ball-room,  and, 
of  all  things  in  the  world,  a  sale  of  Japanese  bric-a-brac!  We 
would  see  about  this  at  once.  The  ball-room  was  a  large,  high- 
ly decorated  salon,  that  also  served  as  concert-room  and  theatre. 
There  was  a  stage,  and  odds  and  ends  of  the  most  vivid  and 
screaming  scenery  I  ever  beheld.    The  "  Japaneseries  "  consist- 


Survival  of  Taste.  231 

ed  of  the  usual  big  jars,  little  cabinets,  tea-sets,  fans,  ivories,  and 
all  the  rest  of  it.  The  things  were  all  modern,  but  exceedingly 
good.  My  delight  with  the  whole  scene  was  complete.  The 
moving  varieties  of  character,  costume,  and  incident  were  enough 
to  set  a  painter  wild.  It  was  grand  to  see  the  deep,  serious  in- 
terest these  peasant  people  took  in  the  quaint  art  of  Japan.  Of 
course,  the  art  of  Japan  and  China — over  which  we  now  rave — 
is  to  them  an  old  story.  I  wondered  whether  this  was,  in  some 
sort,  a  reawakening  of  their  old  interest,  or  a  straight  onward 
continuance.  Were  they  beginning  to  regret  having  parted 
with  so  many  of  their  rarest  and  choicest  bits  of  old  blue  and 
crackle  to  the  prowling  stranger,  or  were  they  not  at  all  sorry, 
but  the  contrary,  and  were  now  laying  in  a  new  stock?  Anyhow, 
glad  or  sorry,  there  they  were,  delighted  as  children  in  a  con- 
fectioner's shop,  and  buying  away  like  fun.  A  Zeeland  peasant 
in  full  costume, with  a  pair  of  highly  decorated  "Jap"  jars  under 
his  arms,  is  a  picture  one  does  not  get  a  chance  of  seeing  every 
day.  There  were  two  old  boys,  with  long,  curly  pipes,  each  hold- 
ing a  big  jar  in  both  hands  for  mutual  inspection,  disputing,  com- 
paring, and  gloating  over  their  purchases.  My  only  regret  was 
that  I  came  so  late,  for  the  sale  was  nearly  over.  I  could  have 
stayed  all  day,  and  enjoyed  it  immensely.  We  had  our  luncheon 
in  the  noisy,  smoky  dining-room  and  billiard- room  combined. 
It  was  like  a  picture  by  Brouwer,  with  but  little  change  of  dress. 
The  billiard-table,  to  be  sure,  was  not  in  his  ken,  but,  if  he  could 
have  seen  the  game  I  saw  he  would  have  painted  it  with  delight. 
There  were  some  fineish-looking  old  fruit-pictures  hanging  about, 
but  I  could  not  make  much  out  of  them  for  the  smoke. 

There  was  one  noisy,  funny  group  at  a  large  table.  A  stout- 
ish,  good-natured  rustic  had  parted  with  his  money  for  about  the 
most  hideous  Chinese  monster  that  the  eye  of  man  ever  saw. 
His  young  wife  was  in  a  high  state  of  dismay  and  indignation. 


232  Jacqueline,  Her  Tree. 

The  rest  of  the  party  were  in  roars  of  merriment,  chaffing  the 
luckless  owner,  who  warmly  defended  his  purchase,  fondly  pat- 
ting the  grinning  brute,  and  even  kissing  it,  to  the  howls  of  de- 
light of  the  whole  room.  The  great  dragon -god  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  drinking-glasses  on  the  table,  and  each  one  was 
having  what  fun  there  was  possible  out  of  it.  It  was  no  easy 
thing  to  take  note  of  all  these  goings  on  without  seeming  to  see 
them.  They  are  inclined  to  be  shy  of  strangers,  these  Zeeland- 
ers,  especially  if  they  are  the  source  of  any  amusement  or  inter- 
est that  amounts  to  staring  on  the  outsiders'  part.  I  was  in- 
tensely delighted,  and  would  have  given  much  for  time  or  chance 
to  sketch  it,  but  the  attempt  would  have  scared  it  all  away.  The 
only  thing  was  to  look  unconcerned  at  it  all,  with  half-shut  eyes, 
and  chuckle  inwardly.  The  landlord's  son,  who  took  our  reck- 
oning, told  us  that  there  was  always  a  good  sale  for  Japanese 
china  in  their  quiet  town.  I  wished  to  see  the  courtyard  of  the 
inn,  which  seemed  to  remind  him  of  something  of  further  inter- 
est. He  got  a  special  key,  and  led  the  way  to  an  arched  door- 
way on  one  side  of  the  courtyard.  I  thought  he  was  going  to 
show  us  a  prize  calf  or  a  fast  horse  or  a  fat  pig  —  not  at  all. 
He  stopped,  and  drew  our  attention  to  a  large,  half-fallen  tree, 
propped  tenderly  and  carefully  up  from  complete  prostration. 
Where  the  trunk  was  rotted  away  there  were  coverings  of  zinc 
to  stay  further  harm.  "  It  is  very  old,"  Jacob  said.  That  was 
very  evident.  "  Some  four  or  five  hundred  years,"  our  guide 
and  showman  remarked,  and  also  that  it  was  a  mulberry-tree. 

Then  it  all  came  to  me — this  must  be  the  famous  tree  of 
"  Jacqueline  of  Bavaria."  "  Yes,  yes  !"  and  they  both  seemed  de- 
lighted and  puzzled  that  I  should  know  anything  about  their 
local  saint.  I  did  not  attempt  to  cut  my  name  anywhere  about, 
nor  break  off  a  few  branches,  or  do  any  other  damage  to 
express  my  pleasure  at  meeting  with  this  cherished  relic.  I 


Old  Wells. 


233 


satisfied  myself  with  a  good,  long  look  about  me,  noting  that 
all — the  locked  enclosure  and  the  care  given  to  its  preservation 
— evinced  a  healthy  survival  of  the  spirit  of  romance  in  this 
seemingly  serious  and  matter-of-fact  people.  The  old  hostelry 
having  made  us  partly  forget  the  steam  "shuckers,"  we  were  now 
in  better  mood  with  the  other  antiquities  of  the  town.  There  are 
many  quaint  old  houses  here,  but  none  so  good  as  at  Middel- 
burg.  There  is  a  queer  little  house  near  the  fish-market,  with 
a  big  gold  mermaid  for  a  weathercock,  that  is  rather  amusing. 
The  shipping  in  the  docks  and  the  distant  river  craft  were 
well  worth  the  attention  of  the  sketcher.  We  were  passing  a 
row  of  very  old  almshouses,  with  carven  gateway,  showing  fig- 
ures in  sixteenth-century  costume.  Venturing  in  the  courtyard 
to  look  about  us,  we  noticed  an  old  well  with  rather  an  insist- 
ed-on  inscription  in  staring  letters. 
"  What  does  it  say,  Jacob  ?" 

"  It  say  dot  dis  well-water  is  not  so  very  goot,  dot  you  petter 
pe  careful  how  you  trink  him." 
"  That's  curious." 

"  Not  at  all.  Much  petter  warn  de  beeple,  den  dey  don't 
get  ill.  Now  here  is  another"  (and,  sure  enough,  this  pump 
was  placarded  even  more  prominently  than  the  well) ;  "  dis 
pump  she  zay  dot  you  must  not  trink  de  water  at  all ;  she  is 
only  fit  to  wash  de  floors  wiz." 

Jacob  was  not  content;  he  must  satisfy  himself  and  me  by 
finding  out  all  about  it.  So,  boldly  knocking  at  one  of  the 
doors,  he  inquired  of  the  quaint  old  black-and-white-clad  crone 
who  came  out  all  about  the  water.  She  gave  the  well  and 
pump  a  shocking  character,  and  said  that  they  had  to  get  all 
their  drinking  water  from  afar,  etc.,  and  presently  asked  us 
in  to  see  her  little  abode.  In  a  few  minutes  we  were  as  chat- 
ty and  as  much  at  home  as  if  we  were  paying  a  long-expected 


234  We  Stop  to  Tea. 

afternoon  call.  It  was  an  almshouse  for  old  ladies  in  reduced 
circumstances.  It  was  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  years  old 
or  so.  They  had  to  pay  a  very  small  sum  for  maintenance ;  it 
was  not  entirely  a  charity ;  there  was  much  liberty  of  coming 
and  going,  etc.  She  was  not  entirely  alone  in  the  world,  but 
had  one  son,  a  sailor,  which  accounted  for  the  whales'  teeth 
carvings  and  the  bits  of  strange  pottery.  I  think  Jacob  managed 
to  find  out  some  people  she  knew,  and  to  know  them  also — any- 
how, we  soon  got  on  most  friendly  terms.  She  would  insist  on 
our  having  some  tea,  which  rite  and  ceremony  was  duly  per- 
formed, as  it  always  is  in  Holland,  with  much  warmth  and  cor- 
diality. Meanwhile,  the  fact  of  the  old  lady  having  strange 
visitors  to  tea  spread  rapidly  over  the  institution.  First  of  all 
a  small  child  came  to  the  door  and  looked  in,  and  then  a  little 
girl  came  for  the  child  and  lingered  long  with  wide-eyed  in- 
terest, and  then  the  child  was  suddenly  dragged  away,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  there  seemed  to  be  a  procession  gradually  form- 
ing of  all  the  old  women  in  the  place.  They  first  of  all  saun- 
tered carelessly  by,  staring  in  very  hard,  and  then  one,  more 
bold,  stopped  to  ask  some  needless  question,  and  all  the  others 
closed  in  about  the  door  to  hear  the  reply.  Our  ancient  dame 
was  not  to  be  imposed  upon  with  indiscreet  interest  in  us — or 
our  tea.  So  she  soon,  very  soon,  sent  the  party  about  their  af- 
fairs, and  shut  the  door.  We  finished  our  afternoon  call  in 
peace,  and  pleasant  and  queer  it  all  was.  The  old  lady  was 
really  loath  to  take  the  silver  Jacob  tendered  on  my  part,  to  get 
more  tea  for  us  some  time.  In  fact  she  would  not  take  it. 
Jacob  was  obliged  to  put  it  in  the  spare  teapot  on  the  mantel- 
shelf. 

We  had  a  good  hour  to  spare  at  the  railway  station,  having, 
through  lingering  over  our  tea,  missed  our  train.  It  was  no  un- 
lucky miss  for  me,  however.    We  took  a  favorable  table  in  the 


SUNDAY  MORNING  IN  ZEELAND. 


Sketching  a  Large  GirL  237 

little  coffee-room,  and  ordered  up  simple  refreshments  which  we 
did  not  need,  so  as  to  keep  the  place,  and  there  I  sketched  right 
and  left — all  comers,  gentle  and  simple — willy-willy.  The  buxom 
waiter-girl,  fresh  from  the  country,  and  brave  in  big  gold  pen- 
dant and  necklace,  and  bristling  with  tremendous  corkscrews 
and  dangling  squares  of  gold  by  the  side  of  each  wicked  brown 
eye,  Jacob  would  detain  her  over  the  change  —  over  the  end- 
less questions  and  banter  he  knew  so  well  how  to  employ,  while 
I  plied  the  flying  pencil  as  hard  as  I  possibly  could.  She  did 
not  like  it  at  all  at  first,  but  gradually  grew  to  resent  it  less 
and  less,  until  finally  I  thought  I  never  saw  a  more  willing 
victim.  She  was  rather  joked  by  the  severe,  unpicturesque, 
middle-aged  lady  behind  the  bar,  until  she  showed  her  the 
goodly  silver  disk  that  Jacob  rewarded  her  with  in  compliance 
with  my  sign  to  him.  Jacob  enjoyed  this  paying  out  for  me ;  it 
gave  him  a  certain  lordly  air,  as  if  he  had  me  in  his  retinue  at  so 
much  a  month.  He  enjoyed  the  day  so  much,  in  fact,  that  he 
quite  forgot  about  the  dangers  of  the  dread  ague.  u  To-morrow 
we  will  go  to  Katwyck-by-the-Sea,  Jacob ;  there  is  no  ague  there; 
so,  'if  you're  waking,  call  me  early.'"  The  Faithful  knew  not 
his  "  May  Queen,"  and  only  answered,  "  Oh,  you  petter  let  me 
yoost  look  out  de  drain  first  in  my  '  dime-daple.'  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


KATWYCK-WITHOUT, 

THE  Hague  is  always  an  excellent  "foothold"  or  start- 
ing-point for  many  places  of  interest  lying  thereabout, 
both  landward  and  seaward.  In  itself  it  is  one  of  the 
most  charming  of  all  the  towns  in  the  Low  Countries.  It  has 
all  the  fresh,  brisk  air  of  a  seaport,  without  quite  so  many  of 
the  serious  and  substantial  odors  of  harbor  mud  at  low  tide 
that  one  gets  so  often  in  a  seaport  town. 

There  is  also  a  quaint,  genial  air  of  court  gentility  still  lin- 
gering about  its  many  palatial  residences.  It  is  easy  to  see 
that  at  one  time  its  dream,  its  ideal,  was  Versailles.  Not  any 
vain  attempt  to  outshine  its  queenly  splendors  is  evident ;  but 
over  much  that  remains  of  the  best  part  of  the  Hague  of  the 
eighteenth  century — which  is  a  very  prominent  part  indeed — 
there  is  a  light,  flourishy,  courtly  touch  that  takes  one  back 
to  the  time  of  powdered  wigs,  of  patches  deftly  placed  near 
dimples  and  at  outer  corners  of  roguish  eyes,  of  jewelled  snuff- 
boxes and  sedan-chairs,  and  the  loftiest  of  high-heeled  brocade 
shoes.  Let  us  not  sigh  very  deeply  over  that  departed  age.  It 
was  a  pretty  age  ;  but  perhaps  it  is  as  well  for  us  all  that 
Du  Barry  and  Pompadour  took  most  of  its  odor  of  musk  and 
stilted  wickedness  away  with  them.  Let  me  not  be  understood 
to  say  that  this  Versailles  influence  extends  over  all  the  Hague. 
There  is  much  that  is  modern  and  Parisian.  There  is  also  a 
good  fair  bit  that  was  built  when  the  Dutch  had  an  architect- 


Katwyck. 


239 


ure  of  their  own,  when  they  were  making  glorious  chapters  of 
history,  when  their  flags  were  flying  in  every  clime,  and  they 
were  good  hard  hitters  by  sea  and  land. 

The  vague,  excitement- hunting,  mere  sight -seeing  tourist 
would  "  do  "  the  Hague  and  all  about  it  in  a  good  long  heart- 
breaking day,  and  forget  all  about  it  before  the  next  morning, 
and  be  ready  again  for  just  such  another  dose  ;  but  to  those 
who  have  the  least  interest  in  matters  of  Dutch  history,  in  its 
art,  in  its  past,  or  in  its  picturesque,  prosperous  present,  the 
Hague  is  a  place  that  could  pleasantly  detain  one  a  week  or 
more.  Even  the  artist,  working  at  Scheveningen,  can  perhaps 
live  cheaper  and  more  pleasantly  at  the  Hague,  only  a  few 
minutes  off  by  tram.  Scheveningen  is  all  very  well  when  one 
has  a  "  purpose,"  and  is  indifferent  to  expense  and  discomfort  in 
search  of  this  one  idea;  but  if  the  sketcher  wishes  to  exist  in 
quiet  and  comparative  economy,  or  even  if  he  wishes  his  money's 
worth  of  luxury,  the  Hague  itself  is  the  best  place  to  stay  at.  At 
least,  such  is  my  experience.  Not  far  from  Scheveningen,  by  the 
coast — six  miles  perhaps — is  Katwyck,  the  smaller  sister  fisher 
village,  and  growing  up  to  be  a  fashionable  sea-side  resort,  and 
putting  on  all  the  airs  (of  gorged  and  bewildered  drainage, 
among  others)  of  the  elder  place.  Wishing  to  see  all  the 
Dutch  sea-side  resorts  that  could  be  reached  with  comfort,  an 
early  day  at  Katwyck  was  planned.  The  quickest,  cheapest, 
and  easiest  way  to  get  there  from  the  Hague  was  by  rail  to 
Leyden,  and  then  by  tram  a  couple  of  miles  or  so.  This,  how- 
ever, was  much  too  easy  and  popular  for  us ;  we  must  needs  do 
something  difficult  and  roundabout,  in  order  to  be  out  of  the 
common.  Taking  the  tram  to  Scheveningen,  and  another  good 
look  at  the  mass  of  saline  picturesqueness  thereabout,  for  pur- 
poses of  comparison,  seemed  an  idea  ;  anyhow,  we  did  it,  and 
also  a  sketch  or  two  "  while  handy  by."    Jacob  was  then  sent  in 


240 


Princes  Wood. 


KATWYCK. 


quest  of  a  trap  to  drive  us  on  to  Katwyck  along  the  coast  road. 
In  an  evil  moment,  however,  came  another  idea  to  Jacob.  Why 
not  go  by  the  Prince's  Wood  ?  it  was  a  little  farther,  but  it  was 
through  such  a  lovely,  shady  park,  and  it  would  be  a  relief 
after  so  much  sea  and  town,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Good  !  the 
Prince's  Wood  be  it.  A  park  or  a  wood  or  a  straggling,  scrub- 
by forest  is  considered  a  great  treat  always  in  Holland.  The 
trap  was  soon  at  hand,  with  a  serious,  sad- eyed  driver  and  a 
hangdog,  fly -tormented  horse.  The  trap  was  an  archaic  shan- 
drydan, blistered  and  corroded  by  the  wild  elements,  as  far  as 
paint  and  iron-work  were  concerned,  but  newly  upholstered  with 
the  shiniest,  slipperiest,  and  stickiest  American  oil  cloth  of  a 
gory  hue.    The  only  effective  thing  about  the  whole  turnout 


Dismalness.  241 

was  the  whip,  and  I  noticed  this,  as  the  driver  took  occasion  to  tie 
on  a  cruel-looking  "  snapper  "  before  we  started.  The  Prince's 
Wood,  I  am  bound  to  say,  had  a  cool  and  soothing  effect  after 
the  glare  of  the  white  sand  and  white  cottages  ;  but  as  we 
wended  our  way  under  the  dense  over -branching  boughs  the 
air  began  to  strike  more  and  more  chill,  and  the  odor  of  the 
thick  mat  of  rotting  leaves  all  about  became  more  pungent  and 
wearisome.  I  began  to  long  for  the  free  air  again.  The  little 
openings  where  the  sparse  sunshine  could  sift  through  the  thick 
pall  got  less  and  less  frequent.  Jacob  tried  to  entertain  me 
with  stories  of  this  good  prince,  whose  towering  ambition  it  was 
to  make  this  long,  dense  avenue  of  shade  as  a  sort  of  atone- 
ment for  many  little  mistakes  of  his  lifetime.  There  is  a 
healthy  kind  of  superstition  among  the  Dutch  (other  good  peo- 
ple have  it  too),  that  plentiful  tree -planting  covereth  a  fair 
amount  of  sins.  I  only  know  that  I  never  once,  under  the  dank 
infliction  of  that  long,  depressing  grove,  breathed  a  scrap  of 
gratitude  to  the  memory  of  that  well-meaning  prince.  Here 
and  there  along  the  dreary  way  were  pools  of  rank  water — 
well  meant  for  lakelets,  perhaps,  at  one  time ;  but  now  the 
lush  scum  of  duck-weed  mantled  them  o'er,  and  fat  frogs,  as 
they  "  plopped "  headlong  beneath  the  mottled,  leaf-strewn  sur- 
face, seemed  to  be  the  only  things  of  life  about  the  joyous 
scene. 

Jacob  was  looking  about  as  yellowr  as  a  quarantine  flag,  so 
I  talked  with  him  on  the  cheering  theme  of  ague,  thinking  to 
inspire  in  him  a  wholesome  impulse  to  get  out  into  the  open 
again  as  soon  as  possible.  There  was  no  other  road,  and  we 
were  half-way  or  more,  and,  altogether,  "  returning  were  as  te- 
dious as  go  o'er."  It  was  a  blessed  relief  to  come  to  a  quiet, 
sleepy  village,  with  a  neat  little  inn,  fair  in  the  warm  sunlight. 
The  horse  was  rested,  and  we  were  cheered  and  comforted  by 

16 


242 


A  Wild  Impulse. 


a  lunch,  frugal,  indeed,  but  which  seemed  a  regal  and  opulent 
repast  in  that  solitude.  There  was  more  Prince's  Wood 
still  to  do,  but,  luckily,  there  was  at  this  point  a  choice  of 
roads.  I  need  not  say  that  we  chose  the  other  way  around. 
It  was  only  half  shaded ;  the  dense  trees  followed  us  on  one 
side  with  their  chill  shadows  and  their  acrid,  autumnal  odors, 
but  overhead  was  the  fair  sky ;  and  on  the  other  hand  we 
could  see,  stretching  far  away  over  the  interminable  net-work 
of  little,  rush-fringed  watercourses  cutting  about  the  broad  em- 
erald meadows,  the  high,  grassy  dikes  that  kept  back  the  brown 
waves  of  the  North  Sea.  We  could  see  the  flapping  pennons 
of  the  fisher-boats  on  the  strand,  and  we  could  scent  from  afar 
the  air  tingling  with  ozone.  The  saline  whiffs  got  stronger, 
and,  even  when  mingled  with  dashes  of  peat -reek  and  tarry 
smoke  from  boat-menders'  fires,  with  a  few  pungent  fish-curing 
odors  blended  artfully  now  and  then,  it  was  fragrant  perfume 
after  the  grave-like  damps  of  that  depressing  grove.  Katwyck 
has  the  same  exhilarating  air  and  movement  as  Scheveningen. 
One  is  lifted  over  its  breezy  dunes  as  if  with  winged  feet. 
There  is  a  mad  impulse  to  catch  one  of  the  tanned  fish-girls 
around  her  ample  waist,  and  have  a  wild,  careering  waltz  across 
the  level  sands.  I  never  heard  of  any  stranger  yielding  to  this 
mad  fancy,  however.  The  ruddy  fish-girl  has  a  sturdy  arm,  as 
well  as  a  powerful  and  protecting  odor  of  kipper.  It  is  quite 
dangerous  enough  to  sketch  them ;  for,  besides  being  of  a  skit- 
tish nature  themselves,  their  tarry  men  folk  are  morbidly  jeal- 
ous of  them.  Jacob  bore  the  brunt  of  my  sketching  encounters 
with  them.  He  was  getting  very  knowing  in  such  matters.  I 
had  only  to  give  him  a  significant  glance,  and  he  would  draw  off 
the  victims  into  sweet  converse ;  and  at  a  nice,  quiet  distance 
I,  making  believe  to  sketch  the  remote  ocean,  would  "book" 
them  with  greatest  ease.    I  used  to  call  him  the  "  decoy  duck," 


Out  of  the  Season.  243 

and  he  rather  enjoyed  it.  Katwyck  is  much  more  quiet  and 
retired  than  her  neighbor,  while,  for  artistic  purposes,  I  think 
it  has  many  other  advantages.  There  is  more  variety  of  land- 
scape line  all  about  it,  and  quite  near  lies  the  village  of  Kat- 
wyck-Within,  full  of  picturesque  material.  In  fact,  I  found  it 
of  more  interest  to  me  than  Katwyck-on-Sea.  Jacob  began  to 
remind  me  that  we  must  not  linger  too  long,  as  there  was  the 
return  drive  to  Scheveningen.  Wild  horses  would  not  have 
got  me  home  by  way  of  that  dank  Prince's  Wood  again.  So 
I  sang  blithely,  to  the  Faithful  One's  astonishment, 

"  We  will  kick  the  sad  driver,  and  let  him  go  free, 
And  sing  hey  for  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee  !" 

"  You  must  pay  him  for  his  back  journey  all  de  same," 
suggested  the  literal-minded  Jacob. 

"  With  all  the  joy  imaginable,  so  long  as  he  take  me  not 
with  him." 

We  had  a  good  two  or  three  more  hours  to  stay  by  that 
little  arrangement,  and  then  we  could  return  by  train  and  take 
Katwyck-Within  and  Leyden  on  our  way.  Owing  to  the  late- 
ness of  the  season,  there  were  but  very  few  visitors  about.  We 
had  the  entire  place  pretty  much  to  ourselves.  We  could  have 
had  every  wild  excitement  they  knew  of,  at  a  moments  notice. 
We  could  have  boated,  and  fished,  and  bathed,  and  had  our 
photographs  taken,  and  bowled,  and  swung,  ridden  donkeys, 
and  bought  out  the  entire  bazaar,  if  we  had  been  so  minded. 
There  were  a  few  other  stray  birds  of  passage,  like  ourselves, 
wandering  about  just  for  the  day,  but  the  gay  life  of  the  place 
was  gone ;  the  fisher  people  were  shaking  off  the  demoralizing 
effects  of  mixing  with  fashionable  society,  and  were  settling 
down  to  the  serious  problem  of  getting  through  the  winter. 
The  "  Grand  Hotel "  of  the  place  had  housed  its  wilderness  of 


244 


Dutch  Watering-  P laces  Generally. 


wooden  chairs  and  little,  round-topped  tables.  The  music  pa- 
vilion was  closed,  and  the  band  scattered  its  wild  blasts  no 
longer  on  the  breeze.  One  solitary  hand-organ  alone  survived 
of  all  that  had  made  Katwyck  "  Wagnerian  "  and  chaotic.  The 
mondaines  and  demi-dittoes  had  gone  back  to  their  off-season 
haunts.  The  free  sea -winds  had  blown  away  the  last  faint 
scents  of  patchouli,  and  the  sand  had  drifted  over  the  retreat- 
ing impressions  of  the  last  pair  of  high-heeled  Paris  boots.  I, 
for  one,  did  not  say  "  Alas !"  as  I  was  rather  glad  of  it.  The 
vast  hotel  itself  looked  rather  well  conducted  and  well  venti- 
lated. Perhaps  inclined  to  "  scenes  of  revelry  by  night,"  when 
the  season  was  well  in  swing,  it  was  quiet  enough  at  that  mo- 
ment. I  could  have  had  any  six  of  the  pumped -out -looking 
waiters  to  wait  on  us  at  our  lone  dinner,  which  we  ordered  to 
give  the  place  a  trial  —  scarcely  a  fair  test,  for,  no  doubt,  the 
cook  was  as  weary  as  the  waiters  of  feeding  the  multitude. 
Those  who  know  the  Dutch  sea-side  resorts  in  their  season  seem 
to  like  them  better  than  the  Belgian  places,  even  better  than 
many  on  the  French  coast.  There  is  this  advantage  in  those 
I  saw,  that  there  are  few  of  them  near  harbors  and  antique 
beds  of  sewage  deposit.  Comforts,  as  we  understand  the  word, 
are  better  cared  for,  too.  "  And  they  are  dear,  but  not  so 
dear."    "  And  they  are  far,  but  not  so  far." 

At  any  rate,  for  those  who  are  fond  of  change  of  scene,  and 
really  pure,  bright,  fresh  air,  combined  with  picturesqueness  all 
about,  I  feel  almost  certain  that  some  of  the  places  on  the 
Dutch  coast  would  be  a  pleasant  experience.  Heaven  forefend 
that  I  should  advise  anybody  to  go  anywhere !  Experiences 
differ  so  much.  One  man's  pleasant  lines  may  become  the 
very  unpleasant  snarl  of  another.  And  there  be  such  hosts 
of  trivial  travellers  who  never  have  the  wit  to  look  back  on  lit- 
tle scenes  and  experiences  of  temporary  discomfort  with  any 


A  Symphonic  Vagrant.  245 

degree  of  delight  in  after-days.  They  take  their  own  inborn 
dulness  to  a  place,  and  then  charge  the  people  with  want  of  in- 
terest. In  fancying  such  people  in  Holland,  I  always  think  of 
the  lines  in  "  The  Walrus  and  the  Carpenter :" 

"  They  wept  like  anything  to  see  such  quantities  of  sand — 
If  it  were  shovelled  all  away,  they  said,  it  would  be  grand." 

The  tram  ride  between  Katwyck  and  Leyden  was  a  pleas- 
ant little  run.  It  was  a  relief  to  have  it  as  a  change.  I 
thought  of  that  sad,  slow  driver  wending  his  melancholy  way 
through  that  creepy,  sullen  wood,  that  Fbret  sans  Pitie,  again. 
We  were  rather  a  merry  party  on  the  tram.  Some  Leyden 
students  had  been  taking  a  few  friends  to  the  sea,  and  they 
had  evidently  improved  the  occasion  by  appropriate  libations 
to  Neptune  and  Aphrodite  in  bumpers  of  "  the  rosy."  They 
sang  —  uproariously  they  sang  —  and  the  song  of  the  Dutch 
student  is  no  feeble  pipe.  The  platform  of  the  tram  was  rather 
a  nice  place  to  stand,  and  even  to  sketch  a  few  flying  forms 
from.  We  lingered  for  a  few  minutes  at  Katwyck-Within,  and 
I  could  see  that  the  place  was  rich  in  material  for  the  painter. 
Mentally  resolving  to  return  on  the  morrow,  I  began  at  once 
to  sketch  a  much  -  bepatched  native.  With  every  chance  to 
have  ruined  himself  by  howling  discords  of  color,  in  the  variety 
he  had  about  him,  I  could  not  help  regarding  him  as  a  harmo- 
nious success.  His  garments  would  have  been  a  study  of  tone. 
He  was  a  living,  loafing  symphony  in  browns  and  grays.  Even 
his  ruddy,  bronze  face  and  his  warm,  sandy  hair  were  in  per- 
fect harmony  with  his  clothes.  His  position  was  so  comforta- 
ble to  him,  with  his  hands  jammed  well  down  his  deep  pockets, 
that  he  did  not  budge  until  I  had  booked  him ;  and  then,  just 
as  the  car  went  rattling  off,  I  cut  the  leaf  from  the  solid  block 

to  put  it  in  the  sketch-book  pocket.    Away  it  went  with  a  puff 

10* 


246 


A  Pleased  Subject. 


of  wind.  He  saw  the  flying  leaf  coming  towards  him,  and, 
quicker  than  I  thought  he  could,  under  any  circumstances, 
move,  he  caught  it,  and  ran  after  the  car  to  give  it  to  me.  He 
soon  saw  that  it  was  himself  that  he  was  bringing.  He  must 
have  counted  the  patches,  as  the  likeness  was  not  elaborated 
He  trotted  beside  the  car  for  some  distance,  roaring  with  glee 
at  his  "  take  off."  He  was  joined  by  two  or  three  other  loafers, 
who  also  laughed.  There  was  a  slight  chance  of  its  coming 
to  grief  in  the  tussle  among  them  to  all  see  it  at  once.  How- 
ever, I  finally  got  it  safely  back,  and  the  good-natured  original 
acquired  some  coin,  that  seemed  to  delight  him  even  more  than 
his  sketch. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


KATWYCK-WITHIN. 


HE  next  day  we  returned  to  Katwyck-Within,  and  found 


ning  through  the  village.  On  one  side  is  a  tree-shaded  prom- 
enade, with  quaint  old  residences  standing  back  from  the  road, 
behind  garden  walls.  On  the  other  side  of  the  stream  are  red- 
roofed  cottages  with  little  gardens  and  orchards,  and  brick  walls 
that  slope  down  to  the  waters  edge.  There  were  women  busy 
washing  at  the  brink,  beating  the  clothes,  with  many  a  noisy  spat 
of  their  flat  paddles,  the  rattling  clack  of  their  merry  chatter 
and  laughter  keeping  time.  Children  were  playing  in  the  boats 
with  their  own  tiny  craft — generally  the  toy  boat  would  be  one 
of  their  own  wooden  shoes,  or  klumpen,  with  a  little  stick  stuck 
through  a  paper  sail.  The  whole  scene  was  full  of  ever-chang- 
ing bits  of  form  and  color.  It  was  not  so  enticing  to  sketch  as 
it  was  to  watch  it.  There  was  a  stalwart  young  woman  hang- 
ing clothes  on  a  line,  and  every  movement  was  that  of  rugged 
grace  and  strength.  She  might  have  inspired  a  wholesome- 
minded,  realistic  sculptor  with  many  of  her  unconscious  poses. 
I  watched  her  every  movement  until  she  exhausted  her  basket, 
and  then  I  waited  for  her  to  come  again.  The  river  was  not 
very  wide,  and  I  could  see  perfectly,  and  —  what  was  only 
natural — I  could  be  seen  in  my  watching;  and  then  began  a  skir- 
mishing fire  of  such  light  "chaff"  as  the  sisterhood  who  wash 


it  even  better  than  it  had  promised  from  the  tram 
platform  the  day  before.    There  is  a  widish  river  run- 


248 


Make  Friends  with  the  Police. 


their  own  and  other  people's  soiled  linen  in  public  know  how  to 
indulge  in.  Poor  Jacob,  who  could  understand  it,  for  his  sins, 
was  fain  to  blush  at  times.  He  fairly  chuckled  and  gurgled 
with  enjoyment  over  some  of  the  richly  seasoned  jokes  they 
pelted  us  with.  When  my  statuesque  hanger-out  returned  to 
her  work  with  a  fresh  basket,  she  was  made  aware  of  her  being 
sketched.    It  made  all  the  difference  in  the  world.    She  was 


KATWYCK-WITHIN. 


conscious  and  restrained,  and  not  over  -  pleased.  The  rural 
policeman  then  favored  us  with  his  society,  as  a  change.  The 
line  of  washers  screamed  with  delight  at  first,  as  it  seemed  quite 
on  the  cards  that  we  might  be  led  off  in  custody.  He  had  no 
such  idea,  however,  that  big,  mild  functionary.  When  he  saw 
the  sketching,  the  latent  art  instinct  of  his  nature  was  awakened. 
He  would  gladly  have  sat  with  us,  and  even  protected  us  from 
gibe  all  the  afternoon,  if  I  had  only  gone  on  with  drawing  the 


AS  WE  SKETCHED  HER. 


Lunch  with  the  Grocer,  251 

women  at  their  washing.  He  and  Jacob  soon  struck  upon  a 
chord  of  mutual  sympathy.  Jacob  must  have  discovered,  as 
usual,  that  they  were  distant  relations,  in  some  way.  They  fed 
each  other  on  snuff,  and  sneezed  and  snorted  in  grand  concert. 
It  was  like  oil  on  the  waters,  this  fraternity  between  them.  The 
washers  turned  to  other  matters  of  nearer  interest,  and  my 
"hanger-out"  came  back  to  the  attitudes  of  simple  unconscious- 
ness again.  The  policeman  told  us  of  a  good  place  to  lunch, 
not  at  the  inn — that  would  be  too  dear — but  at  the  grocer's,  in 
a  quiet,  friendly  way.  I  did  not  care  for  this  idea  at  first,  but 
there  was  the  charm  of  novelty  about  it,  after  all.  It  was  so 
long  since  I  had  gone  to  a  village  grocer's  for  lunch,  that  I 
wished  to  renew  my  impressions.  Having  secured  us  for  his 
friend,  the  policeman  moved  off,  and  I  firmly  believe  he  was 
good  enough  to  advise  the  grocer  of  our  coming.  There  was  a 
beam  of  welcome  on  his  face  that  could  never  have  been  purely 
spontaneous.  We  were  soon  seated  in  his  own  little  back 
parlor,  and  through  the  open  door  leading  into  the  snuggest 
and  brightest  little  Dutch  kitchen  we  could  presently  hear  the 
sizzling  of  our  cutlets.  There  was  a  welcome  odor  with  the  fry- 
ing, as  it  helped  to  neutralize  a  powerful"  fragrance  of  crude 
petroleum  that  filled  the  place. 

In  Holland  they  simply  revel  in  all  the  varieties  of  things 
that  can  be  made  from  that  wonderful  but  penetrating  and  pun- 
gent article.  I  think  the  fire  was  made  from  it ;  the  knives  and 
forks  were  cleaned  with  it.  The  grocer  himself  had  taken  some 
of  it  for  his  cold,  and  the  apprentice,  who  was  also  waiter,  had 
copiously  anointed  his  shiny  head  with  it.  They  don't  seek  to 
disguise  it  in  Katwyck  with  the  pretty  name  of  Vaseline,  but 
they  take  it  as  it  is,  and  love  it  for  itself.  I  thought  at  one  time 
of  leaving  the  scene  of  novelty,  with  whatever  other  charms  might 
be  in  store  for  us,  and  going  off  to  the  inn.    But  that  would  be 


252 


Fun  and  Petroleum. 


a  confession  of  tenderness  of  the  "  oil-factory  "  nerves,  as  the  old 
lady  said.  So,  looking  only  on  the  bright  and  shiny  side  of  the 
scene,  I  waited  for  further  delights.  The  petroleum  made  no 
difference  to  Jacob  ;  I  doubt  if  he  smelled  it  at  all.  It  was  a 
favorite  theme  of  his  in  conversation.  If  he  could  introduce  it 
once,  it  was  as  hard  to  get  rid  of  as  its  clinging  flavor.  Petro- 
leum stores  were  favorite  objects  in  nature  with  him  ;  he  always 
pointed  them  out  to  me  with  great  relish,  until  I  positively  for- 
bade him  to  do  it  any  more.  He  would  even  then  forget  him- 
self sometimes,  and  begin  with  a  flourish :  "  Do  you  zee  dose 
large  building  wiz  de  helevators  on  de  outzide  ?"  "  Yes  ;  well, 
go  on."  He  would  then  remember.  "  Oh,  well — never  mind. 
No ;  I  dinks  she  is  not  de  houze  I  mean.  I  'spects  dot  is  only 
one  of  dose  petdroleum  sdores."  He  would  thus  manage  to 
point  it  out,  after  all,  without  appearing  to.  Now,  I  was  won- 
dering how  he  enjoyed  the  full  blast  of  the  article  that  wreathed 
about  us  on  every  side.  We  opened  the  window  giving  on  the 
street.  This  was  a  relief  and  an  amusement.  The  friendly  po- 
liceman came  and  stood  outside,  and  took  a  lively  interest  in 
our  repast  when  it  came  ;  he  even  suggested  a  salad  which  the 
old  grocer  was  famous  for.  I  declined  for  various  reasons,  prin- 
cipally because  I  felt  sure  that  it  would  be  mixed  with  vaseline 
and  vinegar.  The  policeman  called  our  attention  particularly  to 
the  pepper,  as  being  the  best  he  ever  tasted.  He  was  evidently 
bent  on  our  making  a  good  meal  of  it,  as  we  never  dusted  on 
enough  to  please  him.  Jacob  told  him  that  we  would  offer  him 
beer,  but  dare  not  while  on  duty.  He  said  nothing,  but  looked 
sad  and  thoughtful.  The  policeman  was  joined  by  several 
other  worthy  citizens,  who  stayed  by  until  the  repast  was  over. 
A  small  but  ribald  boy,  however,  who  wished  to  while  away  a 
fragment  of  his  spare  time  at  our  window,  was  sent  off  about 
his  not  very  urgent  business  promptly  by  our  friendly  protector. 


Missed  It. 


253 


After  all,  it  was  some  fun.  I  know  several  simple  natures  who 
would  have  enjoyed  it  with  me  enormously. 

We  then  bade  adieu  to  our  fragrant  grocery,  to  our  confid- 
ing policeman,  to  our  string  of  washers,  still  laving  their  linen 
in  the  sudsy  stream,  getting  a  few  parting  shots  of  chaff  from 
them  as  we  went  by.  It  was  all  in  fun,  and  the  ringing  chorus 
of  laughter  that  went  up  showed  that  the  joke  struck  them, 
though  we  went  lightly  by,  unscathed.  It  is  a  grand  thing  not 
to  understand  too  much  of  a  tongue — even  of  that  of  a  Dutch 
laundress.  The  tram  soon  took  us  up  and  well  out  of  range, 
towards  Leyden.  It  was  a  relief  not  to  have  to  bother  one's 
self  about  train  connections.  I  rarely  looked  at  the  time-table, 
or  reminded  the  Faithful  One  to  do  so.  He  had  a  small,  thin 
time-table  in  his  wide  waistcoat  pocket  that  seemed  to  avail 
him  for  any  combination  of  boat,  rail,  or  coach.  I,  however, 
noticed  this  time  that  he  consulted  it  rather  nervously,  and 
glared  at  it  as  if  he  had  caught  it  playing  him  false.  "  We  be 
late — we  miss  de  dable  dote  if  we  don't  look  out.  Dere  won't 
be  any  more  train  till  nine  o'clock.  We  are  two  minutes  late 
now,  and  dere  is  five  minutes  more  to  de  station.  I  also  must 
get  dickets  —  urn."  I  knew  the  ways  of  Dutch  railways,  and 
had  hope.  Just  as  we  got  to  the  very  gates  of  the  station  we 
saw  the  train  meander  gently  off,  waving  us  whiffs  of  unsavory 
steam,  and  tooting  a  sad  farewell.  Jacob  sat  him  down  and 
roundly  cursed  the  entire  railway  system  of  the  Low  Countries 
in  good,  rattling  Dutch,  for  being  so  unreliable. 

"  That  will  do  for  the  present,  Jacob ;  we  will  now  go  and 
order  dinner,  and  try  to  be  cheerful."  The  hotel  we  selected 
for  this  repast  seemed  a  nice,  pretentious  kind  of  place,  with  a 
great  gilded  effigy  of  some  heraldic  beast  —  bear,  cow,  or  lion, 
I  forget  which  —  over  its  door.  The  table  d'hote  was  nearly 
over — would  we  wait  and  have  a  separate  dinner  ?    We  would, 


254 


The  Golden  Beast. 


and  as  simple  as  possible.  Good !  Say  at  half-past  seven  ? 
We  said  half-past  seven,  and  then  we  went  out  and  killed  time 
by  looking  at  the  shops,  and  sniffing  at  the  pungent  canals, 
sending  up  their  evening  odors.  Jacob  pointed  out  the  scene 
of  a  famous  explosion,  where  a  canal  barge  loaded  with  gunpow- 
der "  went  off,"  and  wrecked  a  goodly  part  of  the  town.  The 
Faithful  One  then  proceeded  to  "word -paint"  the  harrowing 
scene  with  an  attention  to  minute  detail  that  would  have  made 
the  fortune  of  a  sensational  reporter.  As  I  gathered,  he  once 
knew  a  man  who  had  seen  some  one  who  heard  it  all  from  an 
eye-witness.  It  was  awful  enough ;  but,  for  all  that,  I  thought 
it  bad  tact  in  Jacob  to  try  and  sadden  a  very  pleasant  moment 
by  recalling  such  very  unpleasant  incidents.  It  was  time  to 
take  him  back  to  the  sign  of  the  Golden  Beast,  and  dinner. 
The  last  echoes  of  the  wild  laughter  following  some  jovial  story 
of  the  late  table  d'hoters  were  still  in  the  air  as  we  turned  in 
to  the  dining-room.  There  was  a  long  wait  for  our  soup,  and 
then  an  interminable  and  painful  interruption  of  all  communi- 
cation with  the  food  supply.  We  rang  timidly,  and  then  wildly. 
Finally,  there  came  to  us  the  angry  gar  eon,  who,  in  good,  set 
terms,  wished  to  know  when  we  supposed  they,  the  waiters,  were 
to  dine,  if  they  were  to  be  disturbed  by  us  in  this  way  ?  Nat- 
urally, neither  Jacob,  old  stager  as  he  is,  nor  I,  moderate 
"  globe-trotter,"  had  ever  reasoned  this  out  before — it  had  never 
thus  been  forced  home  upon  us.  So,  as  this  pertinent  ques- 
tion had  taken  in  some  way  the  form  of  a  conundrum,  we  gave 
it  up,  and  went  to  ask  the  solution  of  the  landlord.  He,  good 
soul !  had  dined  (to  speak  kindly  of  him),  and  was  disposed  to 
side  with  his  head  waiter;  whereupon  Jacob  proceeded  to  let 
him  know  with  whom  he  was  trifling.  I  would  be  about  the 
very  last  illustrious  stranger,  fresh  from  Brazil,  that  he  would 
ever  bring  to  his  effete  old  hostelry,  etc.     This  awful  threat 


More  of  Ley  den. 


257 


seemed  to  work  wonders,  and  the  waiter  was  called  down  and 
most  thoroughly  "  slated "  for  his  insolence.  It  was  no  use, 
however,  for  that  truculent  menial  to  announce  that  the  fish 
was  then  waiting  for  us — it  was  nearly  time  for  our  train.  Ja- 
cob called  various  Dutch  deities  to  witness  that  this  was  to  be 
the  last  time  he  would  ever  darken  the  door-sill  of  the  Golden 
Beast,  and  off  we  went,  Jacob  heaping  fuel  on  his  anger,  and  I 
wickedly  fanning  the  flame. 

It  was  all  I  could  do  next  day  to  get  Jacob  back  to  Leyden. 
The  whole  place — university  and  all  (that  never  did  him  harm, 
nor  good,  I  may  safely  say),  came  under  his  malediction.  I  re- 
minded him  that  last  year  we  tried  to  see  the  museum  of  the 
Clothworkers'  Company,  and  failed  on  account  of  the  place  be- 
ing closed  for  the  annual  cleaning,  and  how  the  old  housekeeper 
had  "answered"  him  when  he  reproved  her  for  always  cleaning 
the  place  when  he  brought  illustrious  strangers  to  see  it.  It 
was  enough  ;  we  would  return  to  the  charge,  and  if  that  (some- 
thing in  Dutch)  old  person  tried  to  put  us  off  again,  she  would 
hear  portions  of  her  family  history  that  she  would  not  care  for. 
It  seems  a  sad  pity  to  go  blindly  past  the  manifold  claims  of  a 
fine  old  town  like  Leyden — rich  in  deeds  that  live  in  history, 
rich  in  fine  monuments  of  the  past,  rich  in  museums  and  public 
buildings,  rich  in  fragrant  canals  —  to  follow  this  little  war  of 
our  worthy  factotum  with  the  stout  little  old  lady  of  the  Cloth- 
workers'  Hall.  Perhaps  it  is  the  wish  to  "  word  -paint "  that 
which  I  myself  do  know — "  the  things  I  see  about  me,"  as 
the  realistic  mentors  say — that  may,  after  all,  account  for  it. 
Leyden  is,  no  doubt,  rather  interesting  in  many  ways.  There 
are  some  curious  mural  decorations  up  the  staircase  walls  of 
the  university,  evidently  executed  by  some  mad -brained  stu- 
dents, stimulated  with  the  sacred  fire-water,  rather  than  the 
divine  fire.    There  is  in  that  same  university,  also,  when  you 

17 


25§ 


A  Solemn  Museum. 


pass  the  decorated  wall,  a  fine  old  council-chamber,  where  the 
students,  on  that  awful  day  of  the  Exam,  are  weighed  in 
the  balance.  There  is  a  grand  old  semicircular  table  covered 
with  solemn  green  baize,  and  charged  with  heavy  leaden  ink- 
stands bristling  with  savage  "goose-quills."  High-backed,  dog- 
ged-looking chairs  are  ranged  behind  the  table,  and  about  the 
walls  are  bookcases  filled  with  staggering  vellum -backed  vol- 
umes, bursting  with  damning  evidence  against  the  stammering 
and  perspiring  victim.  All  around  over  the  books  are  grim, 
fierce  portraits  of  dons  and  big-wigs,  long  since  gone  to  un- 
dergo their  own  Exam,  but  still  seeming  ever  to  be  there  in 
spirit,  ever  to  join  the  grim  jury  on  that  safe  inside  curve  of 
the  ink-spotted  horseshoe  table  when  the  joyful  ordeal  day 
comes  round.  There  is  also  a  museum,  of  a  severe  and  classic 
kind,  where  there  is  nothing  more  frivolous  than  flint  arrow- 
heads, or  more  glowing  with  color  than  a  mummy  case.  The 
"  remains  " — Roman,  Greek,  Assyrian,  prehistoric,  etc. — are  like 
most  such.  The  "  specimens  "  —  botany,  geology,  natural  his- 
tory, etc. — are  meant  to  cheer  rather  than  to  inebriate.  It  is  a 
good  collection,  a  child  more  of  the  British  Museum  race  than  of 
the  South  Kensington  family.  It  is  the  kind  of  museum  where 
they  would  welcome  a  new  fossil  prawn  with  bray  of  trumpets, 
and  hang  South  Sea  Island  war-clubs  on  a  background  of  old 
Flemish  tapestry,  not  out  of  any  ill-feeling  towards  the  tapestry, 
but  simply  to  let  it  feel  that  it  lacked  severity,  repose,  and 
educational  purpose.  The  Clothworkers'  Guild  museum  is  more 
picturesque,  and  even  romantic.  It  is  the  home  of  those  dear 
old  odds  and  ends  of  bygone  days  that  we  all  know  so  well 
by  the  much-abused  term  of  "  bric-a-brac."  It  is  not  extensive, 
but  deeply  interesting  to  the  lover  of  such  treasures.  There 
are  some  good  old  pictures,  mostly  guild  portraits,  severe,  sin- 
cere, and  valuable  to  the  student  of  character. 


Jacob  Frustrated. 


259 


Jacob  was  somewhat  disconcerted  to  find  there  was  no  need 
of  the  obus  that  he  intended  to  explode  in  the  event  of  again 
being  denied  admission.  He  went  up  and  down  the  dim  gal- 
leries, charged  with  carefully  prepared  indignation,  and  had  no 
one  to  vent  it  on.  Even  the  train  kindly  waited  over-time  that 
took  us  back  to  the  Hague,  so  the  Dutch  railway  system  es- 
caped its  usual  blessing. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


OUDEWATER. 

THE  Faithful  One  had  often  tried  to  arouse  in  me  an 
interest  in  a  certain  sleepy  old  town  called  Oudewater 
—  personally  dear  to  him  from  tender  associations. 
"  It  wos  dere  I  go  for  my  onnymoon.  Heer  Gott,  wot  larks  we 
'ave  !"  He  did  say  how  many  years  ago,  but  I  forget.  How- 
ever, this  particular  Sunday  was  the  anniversary  of  that  larky 
event. 

"  Suppose,  then,  we  go  to  Oudewater  on  a  little  modest  cele- 
bration of  the  happy  day?  Would  that  suit  you,  Jacob?"  It 
suited  us  both  so  well  that  in  ten  minutes  we  were  on  our  way 
to  the  station.  The  idea  was  to  take  the  train  to  Gouda,  and 
then  get  a  trap  to  drive  in  the  rest  of  the  way.  From  .the 
Hague  to  Gouda — even  under  the  softening  effects  of  a  golden 
scumble  of  October  haze — the  scenery  was  not  of  a  kind  to  be 
cheered  or  gilded  into  the  slightest  interest.  It  had  the  flat, 
endless,  monotonous  repetitions  of  a  common  pattern  on  a  roll 
of  cheap  wall-paper.  Lines  of  toy-like  windmills  at  even  dis- 
tances, rows  of  spindly  poplars,  all  out  of  the  same  toy-box, 
speckless  little  white  cottages,  so  many  to  the  mile,  and  even 
the  cows  and  geese  were  littered  carefully  about  in  exact  ratio 
to  the  other  pretty  little  things. 

The  little  ditches  were  as  straight  as  the  ruled  lines  on  a 
sheet  of  writing-paper.  It  was  so  very  odd  that  I  could  not 
help  jotting  down  some  of  the  more  rigid  patterns  of  the  land- 


Scenery  Thereabout. 


261 


scape  as  they  unrolled  before  our  window.  With  the  exception 
of  a  few  wayside  stations,  there  was  not  a  break  in  the  "  design  " 
until  we  reached  Gouda.  As  we  decided  to  defer  our  look  at 
this  place  until  our  return  from  Oudewater,  Jacob  was  sent  in 
quest  of  a  nice  open  trap.  I  could  amuse  myself  on  the  old 
bridge  until  he  came.  He  gave  me  a  good  long  wait,  and 
finally  came  upon  the  scene  with  a  neat,  new,  highly  varnished, 
little  close  brougham.  Seeing  my  look  of  dismay,  he  proceeded 
to  explain.  It  was  Sunday,  it  was  a  fine  day,  and  every  other 
thing  was  let.  "  Never  mind,  Jacob  ;  this  is  your  own  celebra- 
tion ;  so  you  shall  go  in  proper  style."  I  shot  him  in,  and 
closed  the  door  on  him,  and  mounted  up  beside  the  coachman. 
There  was  no  end  of  protesting  on  Jacob's  part,  but  he  finally 
accepted  the  position  cheerfully,  and  I  hope  he  enjoyed  it.  The 
driver  was  deeply  amused  at  the  move,  which  puzzled  him  fear- 
fully as  well;  but  we  soon  forgot  all  about  Jacob  in  his  tank,  and 
launched  out  into  a  very  mixed  and  dislocated  conversation.  He 
would  try  bad  English  on  me,  and  I  would  pay  him  back  in 
worse  Dutch;  and  when  our  talk  got  hopelessly  involved,  Jacob 
would  kindly  lean  out  of  the  carriage  window  and  unpick  the 
conversational  tangle. 

The  road  ran  most  of  the  way  on  the  top  of  a  high  dike,  and 
beside  the  road  and  dike  ran  a  placid  little  stream,  that  was  now 
a  river,  now  a  canal,  now  a  mill-pond  ;  or  it  would  lose  itself  in 
great  pools  and  marshes  among  sandy  flats,  and  then  pull  itself 
into  a  stream-like  shape  again,  and  go  on  as  before,  first  one  side 
of  the  dike  and  then  the  other,  in  the  most  wayward  and  un- 
Dutch-like  manner.  There  were  constant  changes  of  the  char- 
acter of  the  scenery  about  it — funny  little  ferries  now  and  then, 
and  quaint  little  boats  and  bridges.  There  were  plenty  of  char- 
acteristic figures,  too,  lolling  over  the  bridges,  smoking  and  chat- 
ting to  other  picturesque  but  podgy  figures  in  the  boats  ;  curly 


262  Elaborate  Husbandry. 

blue  smoke,  too,  everywhere — peat  reek  from  the  red  chimneys 
of  the  fat  and  placid  farmsteads  nestled  away  among  the  apple 
and  cherry  trees,  wreaths  and  puffs  of  pungent  fat  cigars  from 
the  idling  figures. 

It  seemed  a  plodding,  happy  land  on  every  side,  where  it  was 
nearly  always  Sunday  or  fete-day  afternoon.  Rich,  succulent 
fields  of  pasturage,  where  the  drowsiest  and  sleekest  cows  and 
the  fleeciest  of  pink-eyed  sheep  fairly  waded  about  in  the  cloy- 
ing grasses.  The  grain-ricks  seemed  bursting  with  fulness,  the 
orchards  were  laden  down  with  apples,  rosy,  golden,  and  russet, 
and  the  air  was  filled  with  their  fragrance.  Great,  rich,  mellow 
pears  were  bearing  down  the  looped  branches  of  the  long  ave- 
nues of  espaliers.  Every  inch  of  the  "well-larded  earth"  seemed 
to  be  under  the  most  loving  and  elaborate  cultivation.  Small 
wonder  that  the  farmhouses  looked  pictures  of  home  content- 
ment ;  that  the  porches  and  arbors  were  overrun  with  vine  and 
flower ;  that  the  garden  paths  were  lined  out  with  great  splashes 
of  color,  in  masses  of  dahlia  and  hollyhock  and  aster  ;  that  the 
great  brass  door-knockers  and  the  gilded  weathercocks  filled  the 
sunshine  with  tinges  of  glinting  gold.  The  apples  had  their 
rosy  hues  repeated  in  the  ripe,  pippin -like  cheeks  of  the  tow- 
headed  children  rolling  about  in  the  orchards,  and  the  glints  of 
gold  were  reflected  back  from  the  massive  ornaments  of  the 
Sunday-clad  people  at  every  turn,  so  that  there  was  no  lack  of 
opulent,  Rubens-like  color  to  gladden  the  soul  of  the  lover  of  a 
full,  rich  picture.  Although  the  men,  as  a  rule,  were  arrayed  in 
shiny  black  "  store  clothes,"  they  compensated  nobly  to  the  gen- 
eral color  scheme  by  wearing  such  startling  scarfs  of  arsenic, 
"  Magenta,"  and  "  Solferino  "  hues,  singly  and  in  combination, 
that  their  massive  rings  and  pins  paled  into  half-tones  beside 
them.  The  womenkind  did  not,  either,  put  on  much  44  blare  "  of 
color  in  their  dress  material.    The  correct  form  seemed  ampli- 


VEGETABLE  GIRL. 


Subtle  Observations. 


265 


tude — skirt  on  skirt,  "  until  it  took  the  shape,  fold  after  fold,  of 
mountain  "  and  of  minor  haystack.  I  have  seen  other  women- 
folk of  Holland  who  made  rather  a  parade  of  their  wealth  of 
piled-on  petticoats,  but  I  fancy  the  best  of  them  would  have  felt 
somewhat  slim  and  poor  beside  these  rotund  maids  and  matrons. 
What  airing  of  fine  Brussels  lace,  too,  on  gold-bedizened  cap,  on 
gold-bangled  sleeve,  and  jewel-clasped  collar  and  frill !  "  And 
some  had  got  rings  upon  every  finger,  and  on  some  fingers  they 
had  got  three,"  like  Lord  Bateman's  bride.  There  was  color 
enough,  too,  of  the  positive  and  eye-searing  sort,  in  cap-strings 
and  pinner.  And  how  they  seemed  to  enjoy  their  own  and  each 
others  magnificence  of  attire  and  ample  spread  of  sail  and 
beam !  wandering  about  hand  in  hand,  champing  the  rosy  apple, 
or  absorbing  the  melting  pear.  It  seemed  a  vale  of  health,  too, 
as  well  as  wealth  ;  nowhere  else  had  I  seen  such  brilliant,  fresh 
complexions,  such  cheeks  of  peach  (and  peony)  and  cream,  such 
bright,  gleaming,  kindly  eyes.  They  had  not  the  hale,  bronzed, 
kippered  look  of  the  sea-side  Dutch,  but  they  wrere  seemingly 
just  as  strong  and  hearty.  It  was  our  driver's  own  province,  and 
he  was  delighted  with  our  rather  frank  and  free  admiration  of  his 
fair  countrywomen.  Whenever  we  saw  a  particularly  interesting 
group  by  the  wayside,  we  would  pull  up  and  make  "inquiries." 
The  artful  Jacob  would  lean  out  of  his  window  and  lure  them 
into  a  rigmarole  of  sweet  converse,  and  so  give  me  a  chance 
to  note  down  all  I  wished  at  my  leisure.  We  passed  through 
several  spick-and-clean  villages — one  down  by  the  water-side, 
with  some  very  good  sketching  about  it,  I  should  say.  I  could 
have  told  more  about  it  if  it  had  not  been  for  our  driver's  con- 
suming vanity.  He  loved  to  rattle  furiously  over  the  little  cob- 
ble-paved streets,  with  much  too  much  crack  of  wThip,  and  effort 
to  witch  the  gaping  rustics  with  noble  drivership.  It  was  only  a 
fleeting  vision  of  neat  little  brick  houses,  with  gleaming  win- 


266 


Passing  Notes. 


dows,  and  doors  polished  like  coach  panels,  and  curly  iron-work 
in  the  shape  of  dates  and  monograms  embellishing  the  gable 
fronts,  sloping  cellar  doors  to  most  of  them,  where  the  happy,  ro- 
tund urchins  could  slide  down  all  day  long ;  speckless  pavements 
of  mottled  brick,  laid  herring-bone-wise ;  a  glimpse  only  of  a 
tobacconist's  shop,  with  priceless  old  Delft  and  Japan  jars  for 
the  holding  of  snuff,  in  the  window ;  then  past  a  little  chemist's, 
with  a  golden  mortar  and  pestle  outside  as  a  sign,  and  another 
big  golden -looking  one,  with  scales  and  weights  of  the  same 
burnished  metal,  and  more  jars  containing  spices  from  the 
Indies,  inside  the  shop  ;  pendent  bunches  of  dried  herbs  hung 
from  the  ceiling.  We  went  by  at  a  reckless  gait,  but  the  eye 
of  the  campaigning  sketcher  is  accustomed  to  getting  all  it 
can  from  the  fleeting  visions  about  him.  By  the  way,  too, 
the  Dutch  apothecary  shop  is  not  at  all  an  alluring  thing  to 
the  insatiable  tippler  of  patent  medicines.  They  rarely  do 
more  than  make  up  prescriptions  after  the  Dutch  formula,  and 
only  possible  to  the  hardy  Dutch  constitution.  There  are 
neither  the  "  Resurrection,"  nor  the  "  Old  Rye,"  nor  the  "  Old 
Stingo  Bitters,"  nor  "  Gubbins's  Cordial,"  nor  "  Bunkum's  Corpse 
Reviver,"  nor  any  of  the  alluring  tipples  of  other  civilizations. 
Even  the  mild  pellets  and  tinctures  of  Homoeopathy  are  not 
to  be  had  (outside  of  a  shop  or  two  in  the  big  cities)  for  love 
or  money. 

We  soon  got  through  that  small  "  dorp  "  at  the  lively  pace 
we  were  displaying.  Scared  mothers  ran  out  and  rescued  wan- 
dering babes,  and  blessed  us  both  loud  and  deep  ;  dogs  flew 
after  us;  chickens,  ducks,  and  geese  flew  cackling  before  us. 
But,  for  all  our  whip -snapping  and  prancing  and  dust,  I  don't 
fancy  we  made  much  impression  on  the  groups  of  sleek,  stolid 
villagers,  who,  with  rich  green  cigars,  and  hands  deep  in  pock- 
ets, smoked  calmly  and  grinned  broadly  —  that  sort  of  expan- 


More  Prosperity. 


267 


sive,  many-sided  smile  that  may  be  complimentary,  or  it  may 
not,  so  wanting  is  it  in  decision  of  character. 

Our  Flying  Dutchman  settled  down  to  a  calm  trot  the 
moment  we  struck  the  soft  high-road  again.  My  command  of 
the  language  was  not  equal  to  telling  the  driver  that  I  should 
much  prefer  going  slowly  through  the  villages,  and  then  tearing 
along  the  road  afterwards,  if  it  was  all  the  same  to  him.  He 
thought  I  was  praising  his  speed  through  the  "  dorp,"  until  I 
got  Jacobs  head  out  of  the  window,  and  made  him  translate. 
It  then  transpired  that  the  "  fleeting  show  "  was  entirely  an  idea 
of  the  very  clever  horse.  It  had  always  been  indulged  in  a  rat- 
tle and  tear  over  the  cobbles  in  villages ;  it  needed  no  urging 
on  the  driver's  part ;  all  the  elaborate  exhibit  of  whip-cracking 
was  a  mere  detail.  We  were  invited  to  watch  him  when  he 
came  near  another  village,  and,  sure  enough,  without  word  or 
whip,  as  soon  as  we  struck  the  cobbles  of  the  next  "  dorp,"  off 
went  our  steed  with  a  bound,  and  it  was  all  our  driver  could  do 
to  hold  him  in.  We  found  that  he  didn't  mind  stopping  alto- 
gether, if  that  was  required  of  him,  as  much  as  we  liked,  but 
if  he  was  to  go,  it  meant  a  stylish  gait.  So  we  did  stop  him, 
and  Jacob  and  I  got  down  and  walked,  while  the  playful  steed 
careered  through  the  streets,  and  waited  afterwards  for  us,  at 
the  end  of  his  "  spurt,"  on  the  high  -  road.  On  again,  with 
passing  pictures  of  glutted  prosperity  on  either  hand ;  in  fact,  I 
was  getting  rather  tired  of  apple-trees  sagging  down  with  fruit, 
of  gorged  granaries,  and  bloated  contentment.  There  ought 
to  have  been  just  a  few  beggars  about,  and  a  little  picturesque 
squalor  here  and  there,  if  only  for  mere  artistic  contrast  of  light 
and  shade.  We  reached  Oudewater  just  in  time  to  order  lunch 
and  to  take  a  preliminary  stroll  while  it  was  being  prepared. 
I  naturally  expected  a  choice  menit  in  the  very  centre  of  that 
land  of  plenty.    Not  a  bit  of  it !    Our  choice  at  the  choice  inn 


268 


Oudewater  Itself. 


was  the  choice  of  Hobson — the  inevitable  veal  steak,  fried  po- 
tatoes, pickled  cabbage,  and  Dutch  cheese.  Of  course,  if  we 
chose  to  wait  some  hours  they  could  get  us  a  fowl  or  duck,  but 
the  fatted  calf  was  the  only  thing  in  the  larder. 

It  was  not  much  of  a  menu  to  celebrate  the  wedding-feast, 
but  I  did  not  care  particularly.  I  left  the  problem  "  how  to  get 
more  "  to  Jacob,  and  he  gave  it  up,  and  consoled  himself  by  re- 
membering that  the  original  "  onnymoon "  festival  consisted 
largely  of  "  weal  and  bickles  and  dings,"  so  that  this  was  a  happy 
coincidence,  after  all.  The  sights  of  Oudewater  were  soon  seen. 
There  was  a  nice  little  old  town-hall,  worth  looking  at  once  that 
one  was  on  the  spot,  but  not  worth  going  out  of  one's  way  to 
see ;  there  were  some  quaint  little  old  houses  about  a  placid, 
stagnant,  odorous  little  canal — nothing  at  all  worth  regretting 
a  lost  chance  of  sketching.  The  costumes  were  of  the  dead- 
black  respectable  order  of  "  store  -clothes  and  biled  shirt,"  as 
they  say  in  the  far  West.  Some  local  tradesman  had  evidently 
worked  off  a  "  job  lot "  of  flaming  neckties  on  the  entire  male 
population  of  the  place  ;  and  but  for  this  questionable  relief,  the 
thirst  for  a  "  bit  of  color  "  would  have  been  unassuaged.  The 
best  part  of  Oudewater,  after  all,  was  the  road  to  it  and  away 
from  it.  The  cynic  who  said  "  the  best  part  of  man  is  his  dog  " 
would  probably  have  made  some  equally  kindly  score  off  sleepy 
little  Oudewater.  We  soon  got  back  from  the  preliminary,  and, 
in  fact,  final  survey  of  the  entire  "  dorp,"  to  our  inn.  The  lunch 
was,  as  usual,  served  in  the  billiard-room,  or  that  game  was  being 
played  in  the  dining-room,  as  one  chooses  to  regard  it.  Our 
little  side  table  we  found  rather  in  the  way  of  a  choice  com- 
pany of  weedy  youths,  all  smoking  weedy  young  cigars,  who 
punched  the  scarred  balls  about  vaguely,  and  laughed  enor- 
mously when  some  one  jabbed  a  ball  over  on  the  floor — which 
they  did  so  very  often  that  I  fancy  it  was  part  of  the  game.  I 


A  BRAVE  MAIDEN  OF  OUDEWATER. 


Back  to  Gouda. 


271 


never  saw  such  play  before.  It  was  a  cross  between  billiards 
and  cricket.  It  was  a  relief  to  think  our  menu  was  short  and 
simple.  We  were  soon  out  into  the  free  air  again,  and  back- 
tracking to  Gouda  over  the  breezy  high-road.  The  drive  was 
charming,  although  it  was  only  the  reverse  way  of  seeing  the 
same  scenes  that  we  had  passed  in  review  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


GOUDA. 

IN  the  afternoon  we  were  again  at  Gouda,  and  in  time  to 
see  a  little  of  the  place,  and  to  go  over  the  old  cathe- 
dral, famed  principally  for  its  stained  glass. 
There  are  some  thirty  very  large  windows  in  all,  and  they 
embrace  a  wide  range  of  subject,  all  designed  in  the  grand, 
heroic,  billowy,  blown-about  style  of  the  mid-sixteenth  century. 
Whether  the  subject  be  sacred,  historical,  or  Dutch-allegorical, 
there  is  no  mincing  matters  in  the  amplitude  of  flesh  and  mus- 
cle, and  the  rich  positiveness  of  tone  in  the  swirls  of  breezy 
draperies.  There  is  a  very  amusing  little  book  in  the  "  Eng- 
lish as  she  is  spoke  "  at  Gouda,  which  the  guide  of  the  cathe- 
dral will  allow  you  to  buy.  This  describes  the  glass  so  fully 
and  characteristically  that  one  feels  relieved  from  much  craning 
of  tired  neck  over  the  entire  thirty  odd  windows.  I  began  by 
carefully  going  into  the  merits  of  window  No.  i,  "  Holding  forth 
Liberty  of  Conscience,"  as  the  guide  has  it.  "  This  represents  a 
chariot,  with  Tyranny  under  its  wheels.  In  it  sits  a  woman 
armed  with  a  shield  and  sword,  denoting  Defence  of  Faith.  At 
her  right  hand  sits  a  naked  woman,  denoting  Liberty  of  Con- 
science," etc.  If  the  wildest  enthusiast  for  entire  and  whole- 
sale "  liberty  of  conscience,"  carried  even  to  advanced  Socialism, 
could  look  upon  the  bountiful  display  of  personal  charms  given 
to  this  smiling  and  well-fed  type  of  Liberty,  and  ask  for  more, 
he  could  have  no  conscience  worth  catering  to.    It  is  a  very 


Allegories  in  Slained  Glass. 


273 


satisfying  window,  if  one  goes  in  for  allegory  from  the  undraped 
point  of  view.  Then  there  are  other  windows  to  glorify  the  God 
of  Battles,  when  on  the  side  of  the  Dutch  artillery.  One  I  noted, 
given  by  the  citizens  of  Haarlem,  to  commemorate  the  taking 
of  Damatia,  in  12 19.  "  The  citizens  of  Haarlem,"  so  says  the  lit- 
tle book,  "  first  adscended  the  walls.  An  iron  chan  et  the  en- 
trance to  the  port  was  broken  by  one  of  their  EhipsT  Strength, 
Victory,  Glory,  Perseverance,  Mars,  Neptune — these  are  the  fig- 
urants in  this  wild  operatic  performance  in  colored  glass.  The 
little  book  wisely  says :  "  Strength  and  Perseverance  have  ever 
subdued  Violence,  and  are  therefore  honored  by  Victory  and 
Glory — Mars — Neptune.  "Vicit  vim  virtus  P  that  is,  virtue  has 
overcome  force."  Need  I  say  more  ?  The  connoisseur  in  old 
stained  glass  of  this  period  will  see  these  windows  now  before 
his  mind's  eye,  after  these  two  samples,  and  be  satisfied.  Oth- 
ers, who  are  not  satisfied,  may  easily  spend  a  happy  week  at 
Gouda  in  going  through  the  other  twenty-nine  of  them.  The 
cathedral  itself  is  a  very  large  building,  some  parts  of  it  of 
very  early  date,  but  mostly  restored  when  restorers  were  no 
longer  inspired  with  either  sense  or  piety.  It  was  a  deadly  dull 
cathedral,  for  all  its  bravery  of  painted  glass";  and,  after  care- 
fully seeing  three  or  four  windows,  we  strolled  leisurely  past  the 
others,,  and  took  the  allegories  on  faith  and  trust,  and  with  lib- 
eral charity.  After  gazing  upward  so  much,  it  was  a  relief  to 
look  down  at  the  old  memorial  slabs  decorating  the  pavement, 
and  at  the  carved  wood-work  of  some  of  the  old  seats.  Gouda 
itself,  as  a  town,  is  rather  interesting,  quite  good  enough  to 
while  away  an  odd  day  in,  if  the  sketcher  happens  to  find  him- 
self at  the  Hague.  Altogether,  the  day  had  been  a  most  pleas- 
ant one,  and,  though  the  towns  and  villages  I  had  heard  of  dis- 
appointed me,  the  ones  unknown  to  me  were  pleasant  surprises. 
In  considering  the  lay  of  the  land  from  the  map,  I  fancied  that 

18 


Amsterdam  Again. 


there  ought  to  be  some  good  material  on  the  southern  shores  of 
the  Zuider  Zee,  where  it  trends  round  towards  Amsterdam.  I 
liked  the  look  of  Muiden,  Naarden,  and  the  little  villages  there- 
abouts (as  they  took  their  spots  on  the  map,  that  was  all);  and 
Jacob,  being  appealed  to,  confirmed  the  guess  that  there  was 
a  chance  for  "skitses"  in  abundance.  As  I  wished  to  go  to 
Zaandfoort,  I  could  see  Haarlem  again  on  the  way.  So,  then, 
why  not  go  on  to  Amsterdam  as  a  centre?  There  is  one  advan- 
tage in  Holland ;  it  is  not  a  vast  empire,  and  one  can  soon  get 
from  place  to  place  of  interest,  as  they  all  lie  tolerably  near  to- 
gether. Amsterdam  has  so  much  in  it  to  interest  and  amuse 
one,  an  artist  especially,  that  he  need  never  feel  injured  if  he  has 
to  see  it  again  and  again.  On  the  morning  after  our  arrival  we 
took  advantage  of  the  splendid  weather  for  our  investigation  of 
Muiden. 


VENUS  AND 


NEPTUNE. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


MUIDEN. 

THE  suburbs  of  Amsterdam  are  rather  of  mixed  inter- 
ests. There  are  gardens  for  the  study  and  enjoyment 
of  botany,  zoology,  beer,  and  dancing.  There  are  pow- 
erful gasworks  and  powder-magazines;  cemeteries,  of  course; 
villas  and  summer-houses  inscribed  to  "  Lust  in  Rust,"  with  drib- 
bling fountains  and  plaster-stuck-over-with-shell  grottos,  plaster 
statues,  and  weedy  lakes  and  moats.  We  pass  outlying  villages 
on  river  and  canal,  some  of  them  simply  delightful.  They  let 
the  tram  run  through  them,  and  they  permit  the  gas,  but  they 
fight  hard  to  keep  up  their  old  charm,  and  they  mostly  do  it.  I 
was  so  pleased  with  the  look  of  Muiderberg  that  we  got  off  our 
tram  and  waited  for  the  next.  The  same  tickets  answered; 
they  are  so  obliging  on  Dutch  railways,  or  else  it  was  by  the 
subtlety  of  Jacob — who  seemed  to  be  first  cousin  to  every  con- 
ductor in  the  kingdom — that  we  got  off  and  on  trams  as  we 
liked.  Muiderberg  was  delightful  in  its  small  way.  I  made 
one  sketch,  and  saw  a  dozen  better  subjects  afterwards,  as  usual, 
and  then  got  on  our  next  tram  for  Muiden.  What  a  queer,  de- 
licious, little  old  Zuider  Zee  port  it  turned  out  to  be — far,  far 
beyond  my  hopes  of  it.  It  is  a  straggling  old  place — evidently 
of  some  importance  in  days  gone  by — still  flourishing,  however, 
and  full  of  life  and  movement.  There  is  a  broad,  eccentric 
river  dividing  and  interlacing  it,  making  bridge-spanned  islands, 
and  filling  its  tree-shaded  streets  and  wharfs  with  river -side 


278 


An  Old  Zuider  Zee  Port. 


folk,  and  the  waterways  with  broad-hulled  Zuider  Zee  shipping. 
The  gayly  painted  and  gilded,  carved,  and  brass-enriched  sterns 
of  the  various  craft  gave  forth  glowing  spots  of  color.  The  haze 
of  the  October  afternoon  took  an  extra  scumble  from  the  peat 
reek  of  galley -fire  and  shore  kitchen,  and  blended  in  all  and 
sundry  of  the  local  colors,  harsh  or  harmonious,  into  one  pleas- 
ant bit  of  gleaming  tone.  The  quays  were  bordered  by  avenues 
of  trees,  and  the  fat,  yellow  tints  of  autumn  mingle  and  blend, 
or  stand  brightly  out  in  spots  of  trembling  gold,  against  the 
meshes  of  interwoven  masts  and  rigging,  of  brown  sails  and  gay 
flutter  of  pennon,  of  lines  of  many-tinted  garments,  hung  out  to 
flap  themselves  dry  in  the  soft  air.  If  any  one  loves  what  is 
called  "a  play  of  color,"  let  him  happen  in  Muiden  on  some 
such  October  afternoon.  There  are  piles  of  purple  and  tender 
green  cabbages,  mounds  of  red  and  gold  cheeses,  bags  of  dusty 
meal,  kettles  and  pots  of  black -brown  tar  and  pitch,  heaps  of 
newly  kippered  sails  and  cordage,  and  against  and  among  all 
this  array  of  foreground  and  background  objects  can  be  seen 
examples  of  all  the  queerly  rigged  sailor-people  of  the  North  Sea 
ports.  The  women  take  no  small  part  in  this  moving  play  of 
light,  shade,  color,  and  sound.  The  feminine  notes  ring  out 
clear  and  free  in  the  universal  chaff  and  chatter,  and  the  "  Yo 
heave  O !"  of  the  sailors.  (The  Dutch  seaman's  equivalent, 
however,  for  our  "  Heave  O  !"  is  far  more  of  an  agonized  bel- 
low.) The  small  waterside  taverns,  with  shady  skittle-grounds 
and  arbors,  had  changed  so  little  since  the  days  of  Ostade  and 
Jan  Steen,  that  either  worthy  might  have  sat  down  to  work 
without  a  sigh  of  regret.  There  was  the  same  noisy  click  and 
clatter  of  balls  and  pins,  the  same  groups  at  play  or  looking  on, 
smoking  and  quaffing  tankards  of  ale  or  sipping  little  glasses  of 
schnapps.  There  were  Jan  Steen's  rosy,  buxom,  obliging  hand- 
maidens, with  close-fitting  wrhite  caps  and  tabbed  jackets,  short 


Cakes  and  Ale. 


279 


skirts  and  buckled  shoes,  threading  their  way  wherever  thirst 
raged  direst,  with  their  tall  beakers  of  beaded  ale.  The  laugh- 
ing repartee  was  ever  ready  for  the  risky  joke,  and  the  plump 
waist  was  ever  in  the  way  of  the  all-embracing  arms  of  the  roys- 
tering  gallants.  It  was  all  perfect,  of  its  kind.  I  did  not  sniff 
virtuously  at  it,  and  turn  away,  and  pray  the  good  sexless  angels 
to  show  me  the  picture  of  an  early  Italian  master,  and  purge 
my  sinful  eyes.  There  is  always  time  to  cant  and  recant.  I 
almost  felt  the  great  Shepherd  of  Art  at  my  back,  and  I  al- 
most feared  the  crash  of  his  crook  on  my  erring  head,  and,  as 
nearly  as  I  could  translate  the  tangle  of  his  acrid  but  "  perfect 
English,"  I  was  bidden  to  fly.  I  felt  myself  falling  back  on  Sir 
Toby,  and  saying,  "  That  thou  art  virtuous,  shall  there  be  no 
more  cakes  and  ale?"  Ay  marry,  shall  there!  "and  go  to  — /" 
By  and  by  we  will  be  good,  but  now  it  is  a  real  Jan  Steen  sort 
of  a  day,  and  the  atmosphere  is  haunted  with  his  people.  I  feel 
Ostade  and  Teniers  in  the  air,  so  let  us  enjoy  them.  However, 
if  /  had  written  very  ignorantly  and  spitefully  against  all  Dutch 
art,  and  then,  after  twenty  years  chance  to  heed  me,  the  directors 
of  the  National  Gallery  had  not  made  a  bonfire  of  all  their  Dutch 
pictures,  I  might  also  be  inclined  to  call  poor  Jan  Steen  a  thing 
so  bad  that  he  would  blush  for  modesty.  I  could  watch  the 
festive  Dutch  sailor  play  skittles  with  the  inebriate  boor,  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  even  wish  there  might  be  another  Jan  Steen  to 
arise  and  paint  them  as  they  are,  just  to  show  them,  if  nothing 
else,  what  amusing,  but  sad,  boors  they  can  make  of  themselves. 

It  was  only  a  step  from  beer  and  skittles  to  a  little  shaded 
court,  so  neat  and  clean,  the  windows  so  sparkling,  the  tiles  and 
bricks  so  immaculate,  the  white  walls  so  dazzling,  the  knockers 
and  doors  so  burnished,  that  I  felt  old  Pieter  da  Hooge  must 
have  incanted  some  spell  over  the  place,  to  keep  it  forever  fresh 
and  sunny. 


28o 


Marine  Subjects. 


Look  which  way  you  pleased,  up  or  clown  the  busy,  riverside 
street,  it  was  teeming  with  life  and  movement.  Not  the  roar- 
ing racket  and  din  of  a  Thames-side  street,  with  its  struggling 
masses  of  carts  and  drays  and  its  bellowing  draymen.  It  was  a 
movement  as  gentle  and  placid  as  the  tide  running  down  the 
broad,  muddy  stream.  Look  across  the  sluggish  river,  filled 
with  slow-trailing,  brown-sailed  craft,  at  the  clanging  shipyards 
on  the  other  shore.  What  tangles  of  masts  and  spars  and  ropes 
crossing  and  bewildering  themselves,  from  the  vessels,  tilted  over 
at  every  angle  to  suit  the  caulkers'  need !  What  spots  of  color 
in  the  sea-worn  old  hulls !  How  the  red  flames  lick  and  dart 
from  under  the  black  sides  of  great  iron  pots  of  seething  tar 
and  pitch !  How  the  smoke  and  steam  swirl  about  in  wreaths 
and  clouds,  and  the  little,  busy  figures  of  the  caulkers  and 
riggers  run  here  and  there  like  ants !  Even  their  distant 
shouts  and  laughter,  and  choice  seafaring  Dutch,  culled  from 
profane  authors,  can  be  heard,  as  in  a  distant  dream,  mingled 
with  the  faintly  echoed  clack  of  the  caulking-mallet  or  the  rhyth- 
mic beat  of  the  hammer  on  the  blazing  iron,  sending  out  show- 
ers of  sparks  in  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  blacksmiths'  shops.  The 
music  of  toil  seems  to  have  a  kindred  sympathy  with  the  pict- 
ures of  toil,  seen  through  the  shifting  veil  of  mist  across  the 
water.  Through  the  half -closed  eyes,  and  heard  with  half- 
closed  ears,  it  is  all  very  much  of  a  symphony,  Wagnerian  and 
Whistlerian.  As  you  look  dreamily  at  it  through  the  smoke  of 
a  cigar,  it  seems  as  if  a  little  more  of  a  puff  of  one's  own  blue 
smoke  would  blow  away  the  entire  picture.  Looking  towards 
the  Zuider  Zee,  one  sees  the  square  outlines  of  the  slot,  or  cas- 
tle, of  Muiden.  The  whole  subject — towers,  sea,  and  surround- 
ings— "  compose  "  so  pictorially  from  that  point  of  view  that  one 
feels  rather  as  if  it  were  too  much  of  a  good  thing — too  like  a 
"sweetly  pretty"  chromo  on  the  top  of  a  plum-box.    This  strikes 


NORTH  SEA  SKIPPER. 


The  Slot  Muiden. 


283 


one  all  the  more  if  it  be  a  day  of  purple  haze  and  melting  colors. 
Nearer  by,  the  square,  weather-scarred  old  walls  are  rugged 
enough ;  and  when  one  can  take  note  of  the  dreadfully  modern 
windows,  that  are  stuck  too  liberally  about  it,  and  the  various 
other  improvements  that  have  broken  out  all  over  it,  like  a  sad 
distemper,  the  "Slot  Muiden"  is  ugly  enough  to  satisfy  the 
most  exacting  realist  of  the  new  school. 


CASTLE  OF  MUIDEN. 


I  absorbed  it  all  thoughtfully  and  with  no  care  to  exert  my- 
self by  sketching  it,  or  to  do  more  than  add  my  smoke  to  the 
prevailing  reek.  And  this  tobacco  was  no  little  of  a  boon  just 
then  ;  for  picturesque  and  comfortable  as  the  mossy  old  wall 
was  upon  which  Jacob  and  I  had  disposed  ourselves,  I  strongly 


284 


Dutch  Cigars. 


suspected  that  it  harbored  near  it  something  in  the  shape  of 
wearied  and  suffering,  but  not  faint,  drainage. 

I  did  not  like  to  fly  on  the  undoubted  strength  of  my  im- 
pressions, as  nothing  so  dispels  a  dream  of  sensuous  form  and 
color  as  a  sensitive  nose.  No  neutralizing  influence  is,  how- 
ever, more  handy  or  effectual  than  a  nice,  fragrant  cigar.  If  a 
painter  or  any  other  wishes  to  sit  him  down  to  muse  or  sketch 
beside  the  odorous  canals  of  Holland,  I  rather  pity  him  if  he 
can't  smoke.  Not  only  for  the  above  reason  should  he  try,  but 
he  otherwise  looks  so  incomplete  and  undecorated  in  a  country 
where  even  the  boys  all  smoke.  The  small  boy  stares  rudely  at 
you,  and  says  things  that  it  is  a  pleasure  not  to  understand,  if 
he  sees  you  courting  remark  by  not  smoking. 

Smoking,  by  the  way,  is  not  a  very  expensive  luxury  in  Hol- 
land. I  asked  the  host  of  a  good  hotel  in  Friesland  for  one 
of  his  very  best  cigars.  He  beamed  knowingly  upon  me,  and 
brought  me  a  box  from  a  secret  drawer. 

"  Two  for  a  penny." 

"  Nay,  but  I  want  a  really  fine,  fine  thing ;  price  no  object." 

"  Oh,  very  well."  If  I  wanted  to  ruin  myself,  he  hinted,  he 
could  give  me  such  a  cigar  ;  and  he  got  out  a  highly  decorated 
article  from  another  secret  drawer. 

"  And  these  ?" 

"A  penny  each!"  Just  double  the  others,  as  he  carefully 
told  me. 

I  took  one,  and,  as  the  old  toper  said  of  the  pure  water  he 
drank  as  an  experiment,  "  it  wasn't  so  bad." 

"  And  how  much  do  the  cigars  cost  that  are  smoked  ordi- 
narily ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  ten  or  twelve  a  penny." 

No  wonder  that  the  small  Dutch  boy  can  dim  his  youthful 
eye  and  sallow  his  tender  cheek,  at  this  easy  rate. 


The  Maiden  of  the  Slot  Muidcn. 


285 


While  thus  gazing  lazily  at  old  Slot  Muiden,  and  feeling- 
like  a  foreground  figure  in  a  .faded  drop-curtain,  with  soothing 
music  being  played  before  it,  and  dreading  to  move  lest  I  should 
spoil  the  picture  by  tumbling  out  of  it,  there  came  by  a  queer, 
elfish  little  maiden,  with  a  tight  little  white  cap  on,  leaving  free 
much  of  a  mop  of  fluffy  golden  hair.  A  little  jacket  of  flowered 
print,  a  short  skirt  of  white,  black  stockings,  and  a  pair  of  white 
clogs  completed  her  array.  A  large,  ripe  melon  was  clasped  to 
her  youthful  bosom  with  one  hand,  and  tucked  under  her  other 
arm  was  a  large-eyed,  cheap,  and  elementary-jointed  doll,  attired 
as  yet  only  in  its  own  innocence.  She  gave  Jacob  a  sharp  look 
of  half-recognition  as  she  was  clattering  by,  and  adding  her  pict- 
uresque person  to  the  foreground  of  our  drop-scene.  "  Stay  her 
a  moment,  Jacob,  and  ask  her  about  the  castle — if  we  can  get  in 
to  see  it,  and  anything  else  you  can  think  of."  She  was  in  no 
way  loath  to  stay,  that  giddy  young  mite.  She  knew  all  about 
the  "Slot;"  we  would  be  welcomed  gladly  —  so  we  inferred 
from  her  gushing  and  playful  manner.  Jacob  patted  her  tan- 
gled hair,  and  got  possession  of  the  dolly  to  admire.  We  both 
went  into  raptures  over  it.  As  I  had  never  seen  anything  in 
the  semblance  of  humanity  more  touchingly  grotesque,  I  ad- 
mired that  quality,  so  as  to  be  passably  sincere.  Having  noted 
down  the  wee  maiden's  main  points  of  attire,  and  enjoyed  her 
antics  with  the  Faithful  One,  I  nodded  to  him  to  let  her  run 
along  home.  Not  she.  There  was  a  strong  spirit  of  latent 
flirtation  in  her  young  nature,  and  she  was  in  no  hurry  to  tear 
herself  away  from  the  good-natured  Jacob.  So,  not  to  detain 
her  longer  (the  melon  had  had  one  fall  already,  and  was  nearly 
"  boosted,"  as  Jacob  said),  we  all  walked  towards  the  Slot  to- 
gether. We  thought  to  say  good-day  to  her  at  the  drawbridge. 
Nay,  she  would  ring  the  clanging  bell  for  us,  if  I  would  catch 
hold  of  the  oozing  melon  for  a  moment.    Anything  to  oblige 


286 


A  Cheerful  Room. 


the  young  lady.  When  the  door  opened  with  a  click  by  some 
unseen  spring,  she  was  offered  her  melon  again,  and  our  best 
thanks  and  adieus.  Not  in  the  least  did  she  attempt  to  leave 
us.  She  laughed  a  silvery  laugh,  the  little  minx,  and  owned 
up  to  Jacob  that  the  Slot  was  her  very  own  home.  She  was 
the  keeper's  daughter  fair,  and  she  had  seen  Jacob  there  be- 
fore with  strangers,  and  she  knew  him  all  the  time.  Her 
mother  was  the  keeper,  and  she  was  ill  in  bed  ;  "  not  infec- 
tious" —  only  a  little  brother  for  her.  She  handed  over  the 
melon  to  a  stolid,  lumpish  servant,  and,  keeping  her  blowsy 
doll,  proceeded  to  show  us  the  place  herself. 

First  of  all,  she  led  us  into  a  great,  bare,  gaunt,  unfurnished 
room,  a  banqueting-hall  in  good  old  times.  There  were  some 
traces  of  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  century  carving  in  the  stone 
fireplace  and  in  the  window  bays  ;  some  wood-carving,  too,  up 
among  the  shadowy  black  rafters  of  the  roof ;  but  most  of  the 
decoration  near  at  hand  was  worn  away,  or,  worse  still,  altered 
and  improved  away.  Then  we  went  into  another  great,  bare, 
musty  room  :  it  had  evidently  been  hung  with  arras,  and  had 
been  made  much  of  in  the  past  good  old  times ;  and  then,  prob- 
ably, came  the  bad  old  times,  and  the  tapestries  were  taken 
dowrn,  to  please  some  whim  of  changing  fashion,  or,  perhaps,  to 
keep  the  wolf  from  crossing  the  drawbridge  and  walking  in 
without  even  clanging  the  castle  bell.  Anyhow,  fashion  or  want, 
there  had  been  no  pictured  hangings  of  arras  on  these  mouldy 
walls  for  many  a  long  day.  It  is  now  a  waste  of  shreds  and 
patches  of  half -stripped  wall-paper,  of  leprous  stains  of  damp 
and  mould,  and  half-seal ed-off  plaster.  The  air  was  heavy,  and 
dank  with  stuffiness,  and  though  the  floor  was  cleanly  scrubbed, 
there  were  places  where  it  had  nearly  rotted  through ;  places, 
too,  blotched  with  dark  stains — blood  of  crime,  or  spilled  grease 
of  long -past  festivities — goodness  knows  !     In  a  far  corner  of 


OLD  DOORWAY. 


A  Secret  Panel. 


289 


this  ghostly,  grisly  apartment,  near  the  window,  and  overlooking 
the  drawbridge,  was  a  most  touching  effort  at  a  doll's  house 
"  set  out."  A  couple  of  old  candle-boxes  composed  the  main 
structure ;  then  came  raisin  boxes  and  old  sardine  tins,  and  old 
bottomless  boxes  of  all  sorts,  to  form  the  kitchens  and  summer- 
houses  of  the  residence  proper.  Odd  bits  of  wood  and  old  tin 
lids  and  fragments  of  broken  china  were  making  believe  to  be 
furniture  and  bric-a-brac.  The  dolls  were  of  the  most  sketchy 
and  fragmentary  kind  :  the  battered  remnant  of  a  wax  creation 
was  the  queen  of  the  domain,  and  then  caste  dwindled  down 
through  rag  and  sawdust,  to  rag  alone,  to  wood — splinted  and 
maimed  mostly — and  then  to  various  kinds  of  paper — largely  of 
the  leprous  wall-paper,  hanging  in  tempting  shreds.  There  was 
a  torn  rag  of  an  old  rug,  on  which  she  knelt  before  her  shrine. 
She  was  evidently  very  handy  with  her  scissors,  as  the  great 
variety  of  objects  she  had  cut  out  of  paper  showed  ;  little  white- 
paper  babies  in  little  brown-paper  cradles  seemed  to  be  her  pet 
industry.  She  had  been  making  a  whole  nursery  of  them  be- 
fore she  went  out,  and  would  go  back  to  them  as  soon  as  she 
got  rid  of  us,  so  she  said.  She  had  rather  hurried  us  out  of 
the  first  room  to  get  on  to  this  pet  corner.  Here,  this  faded 
rag  was  an  enchanted  carpet  to  her ;  she  could  curl  herself 
up  on  it,  and  look  into  a  fairyland  of  her  own  making.  A 
very  elf  she  looked  —  and  acted,  too.  While  Jacob  turned 
for  a  moment,  she  gave  me  a  meaning  look  that  meant  mis- 
chief, and  made  me  into  a  sworn  confederate  at  the  same  time. 
She  was  at  Jacob's  back,  leaning  against  a  panel  in  the  wall; 
she  touched  some  spring  and  vanished,  the  secret  panel  sliding 
back  noiselessly.  I  kept  Jacob  looking  at  a  blood-stain  on  the 
floor  until  she  was  all  right.  He  turned  to  ask  something  about 
this  stain,  and  he  turned  again  to  look  for  some  exit.  The  only 
one  was  far  away,  at  the  end  of  the  big,  silent  room. 

19 


290  From  the  Roof. 

"  Goot  Gott !  wen  is  dis  shile  gone  away  ?  She  was  by  my 
back  a  minnit  ago !"  I  did  not  deceive  him  or  relieve  him,  fur- 
ther than  by  shaking  my  head  very  solemnly.  "  Well,  of  all  de 
curious  shilds  /  ever  saw,  dot  beats  me."  He  looked  helplessly 
into  her  largest  doll's  hospital,  but  could  not  fathom  the  painful 
mystery  at  all.  That  was  the  only  bit  of  furniture  in  the  room. 
"  She  never  went  out  de  door  once,  or  I  must  have  saw  er." 
He  was  still  looking  in  a  dazed,  inquiring  way  at  the  door,  when 
the  panel  slid  softly  back  again,  and  she  sprang  out  like  a  young 
sprite,  and  jumped  half-way  up  his  broad  back,  with  a  scream  of 
glee.  Poor  Jacob  stood  open-mouthed  with  wonder.  There  was 
no  trap-door  or  hole  in  the  floor  that  he  could  see.  He  took  her 
by  the  wriggling  shoulders,  and  gave  ber  a  good  shake,  as  much 
to  assure  himself  that  she  was  real  flesh  and  blood  as  to  punish 
her  for  the  trick  played  on  him.  When  he  let  her  go  she  dashed 
through  the  panel  again,  before  his  astonished  eyes.  It  was  a 
great  relief  to  him,  I  fancy,  as  he  must  have  thought  there  was 
witchcraft  in  the  air.  We  soon  exhausted  the  secret  panel 
game,  and  then,  after  seeing  another  deserted  room  or  two,  we 
went  up  on  the  roof,  through  dim,  dusty  garrets,  with  mazes  of 
head-cracking  beams.  How  fresh  and  bright  the  pure,  free  air 
seemed  after  the  desolation  and  stuffiness  of  the  rooms  below  ! 
The  far  horizon  was  rimmed  around  with  the  faint  gray  and 
amber  tones  of  the  Zuider  Zee,  the  distant  sails  were  turned  to 
gold,  and  the  golden  glow  even  warmed  to  dusky  brown  the 
heavy  black  smoke  trailing  after  the  little  fussy  tug  steamers 
dotted  about  among  the  becalmed  sailing  craft.  Landward, 
over  the  faint  green  and  gold  of  the  country  seemed  to  be 
broidered  a  pattern  of  interwoven  waterways  in  tarnished  silver ; 
and  great  bold  blots  of  dusky  broken  reds,  would,  on  further 
looking  at,  be  found  to  be  a  tangled  maze  of  house-tops  and 
chimneys.    The  curls  and  wreaths  of  peat  smoke  would  twine 


The  Dungeon. 


291 


and  twirl  like  blurred  and  chaotic  scrolls.    I  could  have  en- 
joyed it  all  much  more  on  that  most  ideal  afternoon,  if  that 
impish  guide  of  ours  had  not  made  believe  every  moment  that 
she  was  going  to  slide  down  the  steep  roof,  or  climb  up  to  the 
weathercock,  or  stand  on  her  head  on  the  ridge  of  the  gable. 
"  She  preak  her  nack,  sure,  zome  day,  wiz  doze  shimnastic 
dricks."    At  that  moment  she  was  lying  prone  on  the  stone 
coping,  with  her  spidery  legs  waving  aloft  in  space.  We 
finally  got  away  from  the  free  upper  air  in  safety,  and  though 
it  was  stuffier  than  ever  down-stairs,  in  one  respect  we  breathed 
more  freely.    I  happened  to  be  at  that  time  rather  anxious  (for 
pictorial  purposes)  to  see  a  few  dungeons  and  torture-chambers 
of  the  good  old  time.    So  down  some  steep,  winding  stone  steps 
we  twisted  and  stumbled  after  our  sprite,  until  we  came  to  a  lit- 
tle, uncomfortable  kind  of  den,  said  to  be  the  guard-room  —  I 
think  the  guard  must  have  wished  to  be  a  prisoner  now  and 
then,  just  for  a  change.     In  the  floor  of  this  den  was  a  trap 
with  a  heavy  iron  ring.     This  we  lifted,  and  the  adventurous 
Jacob  went  down  into  the  depths.    I  was  about  to  follow,  when 
I  was  plucked  by  the  sleeve,  and  motioned  to  help  to  shut  down 
the  trap,  and  make  a  prisoner  of  Jacob.    I  "made  believe  not  to 
take  the  joke,  but  sent  down  the  young  humorist  before  me,  to 
make  certain  of  her  society  while  we  were  below,  and  we  kept 
a  pretty  sharp  eye  on  her  for  fear  of  her  wayward  little  "  practi- 
cals."    The  dungeon  itself  was  unpicturesque  and  unprofitable 
enough — a  dark  "  oubliette,"  in  fact.    I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  it, 
and  into  the  open  air  again.    It  was  nearly  an  equal  sense  of 
relief  to  think  that  we  were  about  to  restore  our  wild  young 
elf  to  her  no  doubt  anxious  parent,  whole  of  skin,  and  not  her 
mangled  remains  in  a  pillow-case.    Jacob  forgave  her  her  vari- 
ous pranks,  gave  her  a  kindly  kiss  and  a  few  of  his  own  personal 
"  nickels  " — and  he  seldom  parted  with  his  coin  for  sight-seeing. 


292 


Naarden. 


There  is  a  lot  of  interesting  history  attached  to  Slot  Mui- 
den,  but  it  would  be  more  in  the  way  of  the  guide-book  maker 
to  tell  it ;  in  fact,  the  guide  man  has  told  it  in  his  own  best 
style.  I  saw  it  more  from  the  sketchers  point  of  view,  even 
after  I  knew  a  few  pages  of  its  history ;  and  all  about  the  place 
the  material  is  excellent  for' the  artist  or  antiquary. 

In  spring,  when  the  fruit  bloom  is  out,  I  should  think  the 
country  about  Muiden  would  sing  with  color,  there  are  so  many 
gardens.  And  then,  when  that  pearly  haze  that  hangs  about 
the  Zuider  Zee  conspired  to  mingle  with  the  other  tones 
and  tints,  I  fancy  that  the  effect  would  be  entirely  "  precious,'' 
to  borrow  the  happy  slang  of  the  amateur.  I  found  Muiden 
so  fascinating  that  I  went  several  times  to  it,  sometimes 
spending  the  day,  other  times  an  hour  or  so,  going  to  or  from 
neighboring  places.  Of  such  neighbors  the  little  old  walled 
town  of  Naarden  is  full  of  sketching  stuff,  and  well  worth  see- 
ing if  one  does  not  care  to  sketch.  It  has  had  its  old  walls  and 
battlements  improved,  and  put  into  a  tolerable  state  of  defence. 
— that  is,  if  the  enemy  would  not  try  to  injure  it  with  modern 
artillery.  It  is  a  large  military  station,  and  the  place  runs  over 
with  Dutch  soldiers,  good-natured,  slow-moving,  dreamy  fellows. 
It  was  a  piping  and  a  cigaring  time  of  peace  with  the  bulk  of 
them,  evidently,  all  day  and  every  day.  There  is  a  most  inter- 
esting and  sketchable  old  Town-hall  in  the  place,  with  fine  old 
council-room,  high  panelled,  and  elaborately  carved  in  oak ;  some 
grim  old  portraits  of  bygone  burgomasters,  and  a  few  flourishy 
old-time  maps  high  up  on  the  white  part  of  the  walls  above 
the  panels  ;  also  some  carved  old  tables  and  benches,  that  would 
warm  the  heart  of  the  real  collector  of  such  stores.  The  keep- 
ers  wife,  a  pretty  little  pink-and-white  woman,  with  a  prettier 
little  pink-and-white  baby  (like  a  bit  of  faintly  tinted  old 
Chelsea-China),  showed  us  over  the  place,  and  did  the  honors 


A  Terburg  Person. 


293 


with  a  quaint  old-fashioned  grace.  She  seemed  as  if  she  had 
stolen  away  from  one  of  Terburg's  pictures  to  show  us  the 
manners  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Of  course,  Jacob  played 
with  the  baby  in  his  most  engaging  style,  while  I  sketched 
right  and  left,  and  noted  wildly.  We  descended  to  the  dun- 
geons, of  course,  baby  and  all,  and  as  we  wound  down  the 
dimly  lighted  stone  stairs,  we  seemed  to  be  bringing  an  "  order 
of  release"  to  some  one  languishing  in  chains  —  only,  luckily, 
there  was  no  one  to  release.  The  good  old-time  dungeon  is  not 
used  at  all,  now.  They  store  away  the  rack  and  whipping-post 
there,  usually,  and  make  a  kind  of  show  place  of  it.  The  modern 
cells,  where  they  put  the  infrequent  criminal,  were  all  empty. 
They  were  so  neat  and  tidy  that  they  looked  as  if  they  had 
been  recently  done  up,  to  tempt  a  breach  of  the  law.  I  have 
been  shown  a  worse  room  in  an  inn  in  Brittany  several  times. 
The  keeper's  wife  took  rather  a  pride  in  her  cells :  each  had  a 
plain,  low,  iron  cot,  with  a  straw  mattress,  a  blanket,  and  coarse, 
clean  sheets,  a  low  stool,  and  a  little  table,  with  a  Bible  on  it. 
It  only  wanted  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  a  kettle  on  the  hob,  and  a 
nice  cat,  and  many  a  good  man  would  have  been  glad  to  call  it 
"  sweet  home."  The  keeper's  wife  went  into  various  statistics 
concerning  the  sad  falling  off  of  crime  in  the  quiet  little  town. 
The  soldiers  were  about  the  only  ones  who  got  into  trouble ; 
and  when  they  did,  they  had  their  own  military  prison  at  the 
barracks.  This  was  offered  as  a  kind  of  an  apology,  and  with 
something  of  an  injured  tone.  I  am  sure  that  mild-eyed  little 
woman  only  longed  for  a  few  prisoners,  in  order  to  show  them 
how  nicely  they  would  be  treated  there  compared  with  other 
places.  There  were  some  good  bits  of  stone  carving  and  brick- 
work on  the  outside  of  the  Town-hall,  and  a  few  fairish  old 
houses  and  bits  of  gateways,  but  nothing  very  remarkable.  I 
never  like  to  sketch  in  or  about  a  fortress  without  getting  the 


294 


Cemetery  Matters. 


fullest  permission  from  headquarters.  No  end  of  unpleasant 
little  things  may  happen  to  the  unwitting  sketcher  who  is  not 
careful  in  this  matter.  There  are  several  large  and  flourishing 
cemeteries  between  Naarden  and  Amsterdam,  and  on  my  various 
excursions  back  and  forth  I  was  often  struck  (I  also  own  to  a 
certain  amount  of  solemn  amusement  at  the  same  time)  by  the 
peculiarities  of  some  of  the  funeral  corteges.  I  noted  a  sort  of 
combination  of  hearse  and  omnibus,  wherein  the  rather  lively 
mourners  sat  and  held  the  "  casket "  (generally  a  child's)  on 
their  knees,  or,  at  least,  they  appeared  to  hold  it  on  their  knees. 
Anyhow,  they  were  seated  very  comfortably  around  it,  and,  well, 
if  they  did  smoke  pretty  generally,  it  is,  after  all,  only  the  custom 
of  the  country. 

As  Jacob  would  fain  have  me  go  and  see  one  of  these  large 
cemeteries,  promising  me  that  it  was  "  not  at  all  dull,"  I  went, 
partly  to  please  him.  Close  to  the  very  outside  gates  are  the 
bowers  and  tables  of  the  restaurants  and  refreshment  gardens, 
without  which,  in  Holland,  nothing  can  be  seriously  undertaken. 
There  were  stalls,  too,  for  the  sale  of  gingerbread  and  photo- 
graphs and  aerated  waters,  and  stalls  of  apples  and  nuts.  I  al- 
most expected  to  see  a  few  swings  and  a  pistol-gallery,  they  are 
such  sad  light-hearted  people  !  Inside,  we  found  the  grounds 
beautifully  laid  out,  with  all  sorts  of  shady  evergreens,  and  beds 
of  flowers  of  every  hue.  It  really  looked  more  like  some  horti- 
cultural show  than  a  city  of  the  dead.  The  monuments  seemed 
rather  mildly  decorative  than  nobly  impressive.  Still,  it  was  all 
more  impressive  than  the  French  cemetery  that  Dickens  men- 
tions as  reminding  him  of  "  preparations  for  fireworks."  There 
was  a  vista  under  the  shady  trees,  showing  the  Zuider  Zee  be- 
yond, and  now  and  again  the  spire  of  a  gray,  lonely  old  church 
on  the  sand  dunes.  I  went  straight  for  this  latter  incident  in 
the  landscape  as  soon  as  I  could. 


A  Thrifty  Choo. 


295 


It  was  a  bleak,  lonesome  object  enough  when  we  came  to  it, 
perched  on  the  top  of  the  highest  mound  of  drift -sand,  its 
gray,  grizzly  walls  surrounded  by  a  belt  of  stunted,  wind-bitten 
pines.  It  seemed  to  have  felt  "  the  blown  froth  of  the  bitter 
sea  "  pretty  cruelly  in  its  time.  The  scarred  and  twisted  trees 
had  a  chronic  bend  to  their  scant  limbs,  as  if  the  tempest  had 
stricken  them  with  age  and  palsy  during  the  blasts  of  the  winter 
nights.  The  sun-flaked  blisters  of  the  paint  on  gates  and  win- 
dows had  been  blown  off  down  to  the  shrivelled  wood ;  the  mor- 
tar had  been  blown  from  the  crevices  of  the  stone-work  ;  the 
crumbling  dust  of  the  old  headstones  in  the  churchyard  had  been 
blown  away  so  clean  that  name  and  date  and  pious  inscription 
had  gone  as  well. 

Jacob  was  rather  aggrieved  to  think  that  I  had  so  hurried 
through  their  most  attractive  cemetery.  "  Dis  is  a  most  ratched 
ole  church.  Nobody  mostly  go  to  it  any  mo'.  Dere  is  alretty 
notting  to  see  more  dan  wrhat  you  are  lookin'  at  now." 

"  It  is  quite  too  impressive  as  it  is,  Jacob.  We  will  sit  down 
on  this  mound  of  sand,  and  get  a  more  realizing  sense  of  its 
rugged  pathos." 

The  Faithful  One  resigned  himself  with"  his  usual  fortitude, 
and  sat  down  upon  the  yielding  heap.  He  took  a  mighty  pinch 
of  snuff,  and  sighed  over  the  lost  chance  of  showing  me  also  the 
Jewish  burial-ground  on  that  late  afternoon,  and  then  he  bright- 
ened up  a  little,  and  said  he  would  tell  me  "  a  vonny  ding." 

"  You  remember  dot  leetle  Choo  wot  keep  de  shop  where  we 
puy  de  fottegraff  ?  de  one  wiz  de  speckleticles  ?" 

"  I  know." 

"  Werry  well.  He  say  dot  w'en  'e  die  he  gets  hisself  perried 
py  de  Brotestant  zeemeterry,  bekoos  dot  is  more  sheep  as  his 
zeemeterry.  Den  his  brodder — wot  is  rich — he  zay  he  may  go 
to  hell  if  he  do  dot" — (I  did  not  gather  from  Jacob's  tone  that 


296 


Ease  at  an  Inn. 


the  brother  used  the  expression  in  the  form  of  a  vulgar  and  pro- 
fane expletive,  but  entirely  in  a  sense  of  anxiety  for  the  future 
welfare  of  the  backslider) — "  but  he  zay  dot  he  resk  dot ;  he  perry 
'izelf  all  de  zame  by  de  sheepest  zeemeterry." 

It  was  a  radiant  change  to  get  back  to  the  hotel,  after  our 
grewsome  afternoon,  to  a  cheerful  fire,  and  the  latest  English 
and  American  papers.  Even  the  table  d'hote  was  more  than 
usually  light  and  festive. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


ZAANDFOORT. 

IF,  while  at  Amsterdam,  the  visitor  intends  to  devote  part  of 
a  day  to  the  inevitable  Zaandam,  it  would  be  as  well  to 
eke  out  the  entire  day,  by  going  on  to  Zaandfoort-on-Sea, 
and  getting  a  blow  of  the  fine  North  Sea  breeze,  and  at  the  same 
time  a  little  idea  of  a  favorite  Dutch  watering-place  which  is  well 
worth  seeing.  The  sketcher  will  find  far  more  to  interest  him 
at  the  former  place,  however.  In  fact,  weeks  might  be  spent 
there  with  pleasure  and  advantage,  if  a  note  or  sketch  book 
forms  part  of  one's  outfit.  The  sight-seeing  tourist  will  easily 
knock  off  both  places  in  a  short  day,  and  sigh  for  a  few  more 
villages  to  conquer.  Zaandfoort,  being  the  bathing,  breathing, 
and  "  gambolling  "  place  of  Amsterdam  and  Rotterdam,  and  their 
neighboring  towns,  is  no  small,  retiring,  or  modest  affair.  When 
the  visitor  comes  by  train  into  its  vast  and  elaborate  railway 
station  of  red  and  yellow  intercomplicated  brick  and  stone  work, 
the  first  impression  is  that  he  has  arrived  at  a  chief  town  in 
Opera  Comique  Land.  One  passes — after  the  first  surprise,  not 
always  pleasant,  that  these  chattering,  clattering  fisher-girls,  so 
very  decorative  in  costume,  on  the  station  platform,  are  not,  after 
all,  part  of  a  corps  de  ballet — on,  along  an  avenue  of  bazaar-like 
shops,  containing  all  those  enticing  things  that  people,  with  rest- 
less money  burning  holes  in  their  pockets,  love  to  invest  in  the 
moment  they  see  them,  such  as  huge,  carven  meerschaum  pipes 
and  cigar-tubes.    Venus — still  innocent  of  the  thrill  of  nicotine 


298 


Offenbachanalia. 


— rising  from  the  ocean,  was  a  favorite  design  on  these  works  of 
art.  '  For  the  spendthrift  and  prodigal  the  Venus  was  carried  to 
the  full  extent,  in  size,  of  human  "  coloring  "  powers.  For  the 
more  modest  purse  and  person  the  Venus  was  more  fragmentary 
and  possible.  There  were  heads,  busts,  arms  of  the  nymph,  with 
showy  bracelets  on,  and  legs  with  high-heeled  Paris  boots,  to  meet 
the  thirst  for  realism,  strongly  prononcee  in  Dutch  sea-side  towns. 
Huge  windows  full  of  the  most  glaring  ties  and  scarfs,  and  hand- 
kerchiefs of  every  hue  and  style  of  decoration,  with  borders  of 
every  sportive  thing,  from  ballet-girls  to  butterflies.  There  was 
not,  in  all  that  long  line  of  glittering  shops,  a  single  thing 
of  common,  low-minded  utility.  There  was  one  shop  of  chro- 
mos  and  photographs  of  the  professional  beauty  of  every  clime ; 
and  before  its  unblushing  windows  (outside)  was  a  small  crowd 
nearly  all  day  long.  Inside  the  shop  there  was  never  a  soul  but 
a  dark,  brooding,  lone  female,  a  prey  to  ennui  and  thoughts  of 
coming  bankruptcy.  There  was  little  or  no  crowd  in  any  other 
part  of  the  arcade,  and  as  this  did  not  seem  a  very  paying 
one,  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  for  the  others.  The  fact  was 
coming  sadly  home  to  most  of  the  wearied  shopkeepers  in  that 
draughty  arcade,  that  the  gay  season  was  nearly  over  and  gone. 
We  passed  on  through  the  covered  way  to  a  vast  echoing  res- 
taurant. How  empty  it  looked,  with  its  spare  tables  and  chairs 
piled  away  in  one  corner,  literally  in  hundreds ! 

There  is  generally  a  spasmodic  revival  of  business  on  Satur- 
days at  these  places,  and  as  we  happened  to  be  there  on  that 
day  we  were  not  entirely  alone.  The  few  specimen  waiters 
about  were  of  the  frizzed-hair,  black-jacketed,  white-aproned,  cor- 
rect boulevard  type.  The  menu  and  the  prices  thereon  were 
also  boulevard,  with  a  vengeance.  Never  mind !  we  will  now 
wander  forth  and  see  what  there  may  be  to  note  in  this  land  of 
Offenbachanalia.    The  scene  is  comprised  within  a  wilderness 


The  Mise  en  Scene. 


299 


of  blown  sand,  tacked  lightly  down  with  sparse  threads  of 
wiry  grass  to  whatever  solid  foundation  there  may  be  for  this 
part  of  watery  Holland.  Beyond  there  is  a  strip  of  vexed 
gray  sea,  and  nearer  a  crowd  of  bathing -hut  frames  piled 
under  shelter,  except  just  a  very  few,  left  out  for  the  Satur- 
day visitor ;  a  rim  of  red  roofs  and  crazy  chimneys  of  fisher- 
huts  just  peeping  over  the  edge  of  the  sandy  dunes ;  a  few 
fisher -people,  with  idle  hands  in  wide  pockets  staring  at  the 
sea,  at  each  other,  and  at  the  stranger  most  of  all.  Along 
the  newly  embanked  road  (or  perhaps  they  call  it  a  boulevard) 
were  irregular  masses  of  florid  -  looking  villas  —  mushroom 
things  that  seemed  to  have  come  up  overnight.  They  were 
all  more  or  less  empty,  having  most  of  them  pleading  ap- 
peals to  the  passing  stranger  to  come  and  hire  or  buy  them. 
They  looked  a  better  speculation  for  the  builder  than  for  the 
buyer.  There  were  several  hand -organs  playing  at  once,  a 
couple  in  view,  and  the  rest  in  the  air  somewhere.  This  was 
the  mise  en  scene  of  the  operatic-looking  place  as  we  first  caught 
sight  of  it.  But  as  no  smiling  troop  of  fisher-maidens,  with 
wax-work  eyes  and  complexions,  and  clock-work  movements, 
came  bounding  forward  to  twittering  music,  expressive  of  their 
robust  calling,  Jacob  and  I  took  the  stage  and  had  our  little 
scenes  all  to  ourselves.  It  was  early  in  the  day  for  the  gay 
mondaines  of  Amsterdam  to  arrive  (goodness  be  thanked!),  so 
we  turned  our  attention  to  the  fisher-folk,  mostly  the  younger 
fry  thereof ;  and  I  need  not  say  that  the  entire  community 
turned  its  undivided  attention  to  us,  the  moment  I  began  to 
sketch  them.  There  was  one  small  girl,  with  a  very  large, 
healthy  baby,  who  took  a  great  deal  of  manoeuvring  and  dodg- 
ing to  circumvent  and  bring  to  book.  Her  notion  was,  seem- 
ingly, that  by  bringing  that  baby  to  bear  upon  me  like  a  batter- 
ing-ram she  would  finally  succeed  in  getting  a  sight  at  what  I 


300 


Fixing  a  Subject. 


was  doing.  I  had  only  to  keep  well  faced  to  the  pair,  noting 
down  their  little  ways,  and  sketching  furiously  meanwhile. 
When  they  came  too  near  I  would  make  believe  to  tickle  the 
baby  with  light  prods  of  the  pencil  butt,  or  else  seriously  take 
the  two,  and,  speaking  to  them  in  good  round  English,  set  them 
back  to  a  convenient  spot,  and  proceed  with  my  notes  again  as 
fast  as  I  could.  I  tried  a  sort  of  mild  mesmerism  on  them  by 
endeavoring  to  "fix  them  with  a  glittering  eye,"  but,  either  the 
eye  didn't  glitter  as  it  ought,  or  else  they  were  slow  in  fixing. 
Jacob  and  the  mamma  were  laughing  and  enjoying  our  little 
contre-danse,  and  were  not  disposed  to  help  a  bit.  However, 
my  little  partners  were  soon  sufficiently  noted  down,  and  then 
there  was  the  usual  reward  of  small  coin,  evidently  quite  unex- 
pected, for  there  was  an  extra  caper,  a  whoop  of  delight,  and 
a  disappearance  from  the  scene  to  tell  the  other  small  fry  of 
the  place,  who  soon  came  in  noisy  droves,  to  see  if  there  was 
to  be  any  more  fun.  I  think  that,  om  the  same  terms,  I  could 
have  danced  away  and  off  with  the  entire  infant  population  of 
Zaandfoort,  like  another  "  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin."  After  a  few 
more  notes  we  came  away;  there  was  not  much  more  to  do  in  a 
sketchy  way.  The  men-folk  were  all  off  fishing,  and  most  of 
the  womenkind  were  at  Amsterdam  market,  making  the  place 
unearthly  with  their  strident  yells. 

While  waiting  at  the  highly  decorated  railway  station  for 
our  return  train  to  town,  there  arrived  the  late  afternoon  train 
from  Amsterdam.  It  was  positively  running  over  with  these 
very  blooming,  picturesque,  and  pungent  goddesses  of  the  fish- 
creel,  whose  absence  as  spots  of  color  and  high-pitched  efforts 
of  sound  we  had  all  day  missed  from  the  breezy  sands  of 
Zaandfoort.  How  that  very  lively  trairiful  of  fisher -damsels 
seemed  to  fill  the  great,  echoing  station  at  once  with  life  and 
animation !     As  the  train  came  slowly  rumbling  in,  all  that 


Fine  Fisher  Damsels. 


301 


could  manage  to  squeeze  their  rosy  but  weather-beaten  coun- 
tenances out  of  the  car -windows  did  so,  and  -they  also  waved 
wild  recognitions  right  and  left,  and  laughed  and  sang  and 
whooped  at  the  highest  capacities  of  their  healthy  lungs.  Be- 
fore the  train  had  half  stopped  they  were  skipping  down,  with 
loud  impact  of  wooden  khimpen,  upon  the  platform ;  and  then, 
slinging  their  empty,  scale-spangled  creels  over  their  shoulders 
with  a  round,  free-handed  swirl,  regardless  of  how  near  the 
banging  baskets  might  shave  the  heads  of  the  bystanders,  they 
clattered  out  of  the  place,  leaving  a  certain  sense  of  displace- 
ment and  change  of  atmospheric  conditions,  as  if  there  had 
been  a  slight  visitation  of  a  saline  whirlwind.  There  was  no 
sort  of  evidence  of  fatigue  after  their  hard  day's  work ;  with 
such  a  free  lilt  in  their  stride,  they  looked  as  if  they  could 
vault  a  six-barred  gate,  klumpen  and  all.  I  followed  the  crowd 
to  the  open,  and  saw  them  form  into  small,  chummy  groups, 
and  straggle  homeward  over  the  brow  of  the  sandy  dunes.  I 
had  no  time  to  sketch  them  very  elaborately,  but  I  just  made  a 
note  of  the  picture  they  seemed  to  streel  into.  Their  gold- 
pinned  lace  caps,  with  a  high,  fore  -  and- aft  -  cocked  straw  hat 
atop,  the  brown,  empty  creels  over  their  shoulders,  the  short 
skirts  fluttering  in  the  wind,  the  dark -blue  stockings  in  white 
wooden  shoon,  plodding  or  prancing  through  the  sand,  and  all 
standing  clear  against  the  pale,  late,  afternoon  sky  —  every 
movement  had  some  grace  or  strength  or  character,  as  they 
went,  as  if  blown  by  the  breeze,  across  the  plains  of  shifting  sand 
and  stunted  grass,  to  their  homes  behind  the  dike,  in  the  little 
sheltered  rifts. 

On  our  way  to  Zaandfoort  we  had  given  a  few  of  the 
morning  hours  to  Zaandam,  but  I  did  not  care  to  see  a^ain 
the  long,  watery  avenue  of  the  place,  with  its  hundreds  of  wind- 
mills "  all  a-blowing,"  nor  did  I  wish  to  pay  my  duty-visit  to  the 


302 


Idle  Meditations. 


shop  of  Peter  the  Great.    So  we  took  a  good- natured- looking 
boatman  at  the  ferry,  and  floated  lazily  about  on  the  broad, 
placid  river,  just  above  the  locks,  and  peered  into  the  queer, 
old-fashioned  gardens,  and  into  the  comic  summer-houses  by 
the  water's  edge.    It  was  not  indiscreet,  as  there  was  no  notion 
of  any  one's  privacy  being  studied  or  considered  in  the  matter 
of  these  leafy  bowers  and  blooming  banks  of  hollyhock  and 
aster.    The  correct  thing  seemed  to  be  to  enjoy  one's  self  as 
publicly  as  possible.    The  hedges  seemed  to  be  made  low  on 
purpose  for  the  neighbors  to  step  over  and  take  part  in  any  fun 
going,  or,  at  least,  to  look  over  and  see  the  others  enjoy  them- 
selves.   The  trellis  work  of  the  summer-houses  was  invitingly 
open  to  outside  gazers,  and  there  were  little  steps  and  landing- 
stages  handy,  down  at  the  water's  edge,  where  boat -loads  of 
friends  might  draw  up  and  make  themselves  at  home.    It  did 
not  seem  to  be  a  place  where  the  spirit  of  sport  ever  raged  on 
the  waters.    I  saw  no  sign  of  any  one  showing  of!  in  an  out- 
rigger, or  any  other  racing -craft.    The  boats — such  as  I  actu- 
ally saw  —  were  of  the  old-fashioned,  broad -bottomed,  safety- 
assuring  sort ;  highly  painted  and  gilded,  and  scarlet-cushioned, 
but  not  sportive  in  the  least.    It  was  not  a  moment  to  do  much 
sketching.    We  floated  idly  about,  the  short  hour  we  were 
there,  and  I  gladly  would  have  spent  the  day  doing  just  that 
and  no  more ;  letting  such  sensitized  plates  as  were  in  working 
order  back  in  the  brain  take  any  impressions  they  liked,  and  to 
"  fix  "  and  preserve  any  that  were  worth  having,  or  not,  as  the 
case  might  be.     Yet,  even  in  floating  about  in  this  dreamy 
mood,  it  is  well  always  to  have  a  fit  sketch-book  at  hand — in 
hand,  really — and  a  couple  of  well-sharpened  pencils  ready.  If 
one  has  to  fumble  about  for  a  book,  and  then  find  a  knife,  and 
then  sharpen  a  pencil,  the  quickly-moving  thing — so  often  good 
— is  gone.    Then,  too,  it  is  the  feeling  of  bother  in  having  to 


Didactic  Reflections. 


303 


prepare  ones  materials  that  prevents  many  a  worthy  effort  being 
attempted.  The  more  one  strives  to  catch  the  spirit  of  a  fig- 
ure, or  of  groups  of  figures,  in  action,  the  more  one's  capacity 
of  seeing  all  about  and  around  a  thing  at  once  is  quickened 
and  made  surer.  After  a  certain  experience  in  this  way,  a 
quiet,  or,  above  all,  a  k' posing  "  figure  seems  mild  and  tame  in 
comparison. 


At  first,  the 
doinor  and  the 
results  of  sketch- 
action  are 
awfully  depress- 
ing, and  apt  to 
discourage  one; 
but,  after  all,  no 

matter  how  bad  the  actual  sketch  may  be,  a  great  deal  more 
knowledge  has  been  acquired  than  one  dreams  of  at  the  time. 
And  we  soon  get  to  know  the  vast  difference  between  real 
action  and  "  posed  "  action,  and  that  is  worth  a  great  deal  of 


A  WAYSIDE  CROSS. 


3°4 


Will  Try  it  A  gam. 


trouble.  Although  I  had  the  ready  book  and  pencil  in  hand 
on  that  sleepy,  sunny  river,  there  was  little  done  except  to  note 
down  a  few  odd  things,  and  add  "  Mem.  To  come  here  again, 
and  stay  a  week  or  two."  One  could  easily  come  and  go  every 
day  from  Amsterdam,  if  preferred.  The  boats  and  the  trams 
and  trains  run  continually. 


r 

) 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


UTRECHT  AND  ARNHEIM. 

AS  we  were  now  come  pretty  nearly  to  the  end  of  the 
list  of  things  to  see  in  and  about  Amsterdam,  I  be- 
i  gan  to  plan  a  jaunt,  by  way  of  Utrecht,  to  Arnheim, 
and  then  along  through  Brabant  to  Maestricht.  Of  course, 
other  plans  were  thought  of  and  weighed  in  the  scale,  but  the 
balance  was  in  favor  of  Brabant.  Jacob  was  set  to  work  to 
look  up  his  trains  and  find  out  anything  of  interest,  and  pre- 
pare generally.  We  found  that  we  could  spend  a  day  or  two 
at  Utrecht  with  great  profit,  as  there  are  so  many  fine  things 
of  artistic  interest  in  and  about  the  place  generally. 

I  can't  say  much  for  the  way  Utrecht  "leads  up"  to  her  at- 
tractions, from  the  Amsterdam  side,  at  least ;  for  a  more  unin- 
teresting strip  of  country  I  never  beheld.  However,  it  is  soon 
over,  that's  one  comfort.  I  can't  say  of  it  as  a  friend  said  of 
his  claret,  that  his  lunching  guests  were  rather  shy  of :  "  Do 
have  some  more ;  it  isn't  very  good,  but  there's  lots  of  it !" 
Utrecht  is  gay  and  bright  enough,  but  that  impression  may 
have  been  partly  owing  to  the  monotonous  prelude  to  it,  and 
partly  to  the  fact  that  it  was  market-day. 

The  streets  were  filled  with  bustling,  chattering  crowds,  bar- 
tering and  bargaining  with  much  vigor  and  merry  clamor. 
There  was  little  to  note  in  specialty  of  type  or  costume.  The 
streets  are  wide,  well-kept,  tree -shaded  avenues,  with  many 
large,  showy  shops,  with  the  usual  spread  of  pastry,  confection- 

20 


306 


U tree  Jit. 


ery,  jewelry,  and  articles  eie  Paris,  to  catch  the  eye  of  the  rich 
bourgeoisie  and  the  opulent  farmer.  The  public  buildings  are 
many,  and,  if  not  very  impressive,  may  be,  at  least,  termed  "  im- 
posing.1' The  town-hall  is  not  very  old,  nor  even  Dutch  in  char- 
acter. It  merely  strives  to  be  massive  and  classic  (of  a  very 
mixed  order),  and  succeeds  nobly.  On  the  upper  floors  of  the 
vast  building  there  is  a  very  good  and  interesting  museum  in- 
deed, rich  in  many  rare  objects  of  archaeological  and  artistic 
interest.  They  are  mostly  antiquities  connected  with  the 
stormy  history  of  the  town,  and  the  fair  old  city  of  Utrecht 
has  had  as  goodly  a  share  of  ups  and  downs  in  the  way  of 
calamities  and  prosperities  as  most  places  in  the  stormy  Neth- 
erlands. In  this  very  museum  there  are  some  hundred  old 
prints  and  pictures  of  their  grand  old  cathedral,  riven  by  the 
crash  of  a  fearful  thunderbolt,  and  mangled  by  the  wild  fury  of 
the  storm  that  followed  it.  It  must  have  seemed  to  the  terri- 
fied people  as  if  the  very  crack  of  doom  had  come.  This  was 
in  1674,  and  for  about  a  hundred  years  after  that  "fell  swoop" 
of  tempest,  the  debris  of  the  building  remained  where  it  fell. 
The  inhabitants  were  either  awed  with  the  feeling  that  it  was  in 
some  way  the  result  of  divine  wrath,  and  that  it  would  be  better 
to  let  the  thing  remain  as  a  warning  to  them,  or  they  were  too 
discouraged  and  poor  at  the  time  to  attempt  any  restoration  ;  and 
even  at  best,  the  restoration,  when  it  did  come,  was  but  a  patch- 
ing of  the  parts  left  standing,  and  a  clearing  away  of  what  had 
fallen.  Judging  from  the  noble  tower  remaining,  the  cathedral 
must  have  been  of  the  first  order  of  carven  splendor. 

There  are  many  bits  of  its  debris  in  the  museum  to  show 
what  it  once  was,  when  in  its  glory.  There  are  also  preserved 
there  the  usual  covetable  old  beakers  and  tankards  of  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  goldsmiths'  work,  some 
choice  old  graven  glass  of  the  same  period — in  fact,  all  the 


Odds  and  Ends. 


307 


sumptuous  "set-outs"  of  the  festive  board,  so  very  gorgeous 
at  that  luxurious  time,  are  preserved  for  us  there.  There  are 
many  other  objects  of  interest,  to  the  student  of  art  especially, 
and  they  give  one  every  facility  to  study  them.  I  saw  several 
easels  about  the  place.  The  custodian  reached  down  an  old 
drum  and  herald's  trumpet  from  on  high,  so  that  I  could  sketch 
all  round  them  if  I  wished.  There  is  also  at  Utrecht  a  very 
good  gallery  of  pictures,  ancient  and   modern  —  nothing,  of 


ARNHEIM. 


course,  like  the  galleries  of  other  places,  like  the  Hague  and 
Amsterdam,  or  even  Haarlem,  but  still  well  worth  seeing. 

There  is  a  large  and  curious  canal  running  through  the 
town,  with  a  kind  of  two-story  quay  alongside  it.  It  seemed 
full  of  "  go  "  and  movement,  and  lots  of  color,  and  plenty  of  pos- 
sibilities in  the  way  of  sketching.  There  was  a  lively  fish-mar- 
ket at  a  bustling  corner  of  it,  and  there  must  have  been  a  miracu- 
lous catch  of  prawns  and  shrimps  the  day  before,  somewhere  near 


308  A  Shrimp  Feast. 

Utrecht.  I  never  saw  such  an  overflow  of  them.  The  very  air 
was  redolent  and  pink  with  them.  They  can't  be  very  indigesti- 
ble to  Dutch  folk,  either,  or  many  would  have  died  that  day, 
judging  from  the  free  and  unstinted  consumption  of  them  by 
the  general  populace.  They  wrere  carrying  them  away  in  paper 
sacks,  and  in  their  wide  breeches  pockets,  without  any  sack.  It 
only  seemed  to  be  the  very  finnicky,  and  those  with  spare  time 
to  kill,  and  those  not  hungry,  who  took  the  shells  off  before  eat- 
ing them.  A  good,  long,  fatiguing  market-day  will,  somehow, 
make  you  feel  as  if  you  had  been  in  the  place  a  week  when 
night  comes  on.  Our  inn  was  in  the  thick  of  the  racket,  and, 
as  the  successful  market- people  strayed  in  to  moisten  their 
parched  shrimps,  the  din  increased  in  speed  and  pitch.  We 
had  thought  of  staying  overnight,  and  going  on  to  Arnheim 
early  in  the  morning.  As  this  row  increased,  Jacob  was  put  in 
communion  with  his  time-table.  We  could  easily  catch  a  nice 
train,  if  we  started  then  and  there,  and  get  to  Arnheim  for  a 
quiet  dinner,  and,  better  still,  a  quiet  night  of  it.  We  bade  a 
hurried  adieu  to  the  gorged  inn,  whose  flurried  host  seemed 
even  glad  to  have  our  room,  and  we  sped  to  our  waiting  train, 
and  just  in  time.  I  should  have  enjoyed  the  daylight  view  of 
the  country  we  were  soon  speeding  through.  It  looked,  in  the 
dim  twilight,  to  be  of  a  more  varied  character  than  that  we  came 
past  in  the  early  morning. 

Arnheim  struck  me  as  being  so  cool  and  fresh  and  calm, 
after  the  racket  of  Utrecht !  The  hotel  was  of  a  different  stamp, 
too.  It  was  like  a  good  Hague  hotel,  with  a  landlord  welcoming 
you  in  clear,  sound  English,  and  all  the  servants  more  or  less  up 
to  a  certain  maltreatment  of  the  language,  so  that  one  could 
make  some  sort  of  impression  on  them  when  out  of  Dutch  for 
the  moment.  The  hotel  was  not  in  the  heart  of  the  town,  but 
just  on  the  upland  slope,  near  to  the  Rhine — I  think  its  name 


MARKET-DAY  IN  ARNHEIM. 


Comfort  in  Arnheim. 


is  the  "  Solid."  After  our  quiet  little  nicely  served  dinner  we 
felt  so  refreshed,  and  washed  clean  of  "  the  toils  of  the  day  and 
the  din  of  the  fair,"  that  we  took  our  soothing  cigars,  and 
strolled  out  into  the  peaceful,  starlit  air. 

It  was,  after  all,  a  good  move  getting  away  to  this  restful 
place.  I  could  fancy  the  noise  and  reek  that  would  be  kept  up 
at  the  Golden  Animal  at  Utrecht  until  all  hours  of  the  morning. 
It  is  all  very  well,  if  one  feels  disposed  to  go  down  and  join  in 
the  pandemonium ;  but  if  seeking  rest  for  the  quivering  ear- 
drum, the  best  place  is  miles  away,  as  we  found  by  successful 
experiment.  The  shops  of  Arnheim  were  still  ablaze,  and  in- 
viting the  passer-by  to  indulge  in  all  sorts  of  articles  of  luxury 
and  superfluity.  I  never  saw  streets  of  shops  filled  with  so 
many  things  I  never  hope  to  covet  as  I  have  remarked  in  some 
of  the  Dutch  towns  of  minor  import.  If  one  is,  happily,  indif- 
ferent to  the  splendid  but  splurgy  meerschaum,  or  qualmed  by 
the  show  of  fat  confectionery,  or  undazed  by  the  pretentious 
and  hollow  jewelry,  or  scared  by  the  decided  tone  of  the  hosiers' 
startling  goods,  he  can  always  keep  his  coin  nearly  intact  about 
him  in  these  places.  If  one  has  to  be  thought  a  fool  in  any 
given  direction,  he  is  safer  there  from  temptation  if  his  foolery 
happen  to  be  in  things  aesthetic.  He  will  hasten  him  away 
from  the  arsenical  and  gas-tarical  hues  of  the  screaming  chro- 
mos,  from  the  coal-scuttles  enriched  with  chaste  ornament  in 
mother-of-pearl,  from  the  wobbly,  veneered  tables,  with  thin,  help- 
less legs,  from  great,  garish  mirrors,  with  careering  scrolls  in 
Dutch  metal,  and  all  the  other  luxurious  abominations.  The 
tempting  shops,  nay,  even  the  towns  containing  such,  are  few 
and  far  between,  when  once  one  has  left  the  Hague  and  Am- 
sterdam behind. 

However,  the  Dutch  people  are  great  collectors  and  lovers 
of  good  things,  and  one  good  reason  for  the  scarcity  and  dear- 


312 


In  and  About  the  Town. 


ness  of  "  curios  "  may  lie  in  the  fact  that  they  exhaust  their  own 
supplies  themselves,  and  far  outbid  the  wandering  stranger  who 
is  on  the  lookout  for  bargains.  The  showy  stuff  one  sees  there 
in  profusion  is  created  for  the  newly  enriched  cheese  and  butter 
farmer,  or  the  returned  planter  from  the  Dutch  colonies.  Arn- 
heim  is  a  very  wealthy  and  exclusive  town,  with  many  costly  and 
imposing  residences  therein  (that  is,  the  new  part  of  it).  There 
is  little  of  Dutch  character  in  any  of  the  various  orders  of  mixed 
architecture  that  one  sees ;  the  houses  and  villas  are  mostly 
modern,  like  the  fortunes  of  the  owners.  The  prevailing  style 
is  the  French  private  hotel  of  the  provinces,  but  with  certain 
classic  variations.  One  is  never  led  into  charging  them  with 
inconsistency,  as  they  never  seemed  to  care  to  have  that  quality. 
They  were  built  for  convenience  and  for  show,  and  if  they  have 
not  the  first,  they  mostly  have  the  latter  attribute,  to  a  high 
degree.  Having  ceased  to  amuse  or  instruct  ourselves  in  the 
gas-lighted  streets  of  business,  we  had  strolled  into  the  quiet, 
tree-lined  avenues,  beside  the  park  and  the  long  stretch  of  orna- 
mental water  that  winds  through  that  part  of  the  town.  Jacob 
tried  to  impress  me  with  tales  of  the  sudden  rises  to  fortune  he 
had  heard  of  among  these  well-housed,  opulent  citizens,  and  I 
was  glad  to  know  of  their  prosperity,  and  to  note  the  lavish 
way  they  seemed  to  adorn  their  palatial  residences ;  but,  when 
it  was  all  said  and  done,  it  was  not  entirely  what  I  had  come 
so  far  to  see.  For  any  special  joy — except  the  quiet  absence  of 
any  envy — it  was  giving  me,  I  might  as  well  have  been  walk- 
ing down  Park  Lane  in  London,  or  the  Fifth  Avenue  in  New 
York.  We  left  the  scenes  of  select  opulence,  and  wandered  off 
to  the  other  end  of  the  town,  down  along  the  shadow-haunted 
streets  about  the  great  church.  It  w^as  a  massive,  looming  old 
pile,  as  we  came  upon  it  in  the  moonlight,  eloquent  with  mu- 
sical clamor  of  pealing  carillon  every  few  minutes.    The  sacred 


Moonlight  Divagations. 


313 


precincts  were  rather  damp  and  odorous,  as  well  as  impressive 
and  grand,  and  after  a  certain  time  the  damp  and  the  "whiffs" 
seem  to  increase  and  grow  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  original 
impressiveness ;  we  left  the  narrow,  overshadowed  streets,  and 
sought  the  great  square  near  by.  It  was  a  fine,  open  space, 
with  borders  of  trees  about  it,  and  some  good,  substantial  old 
houses  —  nothing  very  ornate,  that  I  could  make  out,  in  the 
dim  half-light,  but  it  was  all  open  and  fresh,  and  evidently  well- 
kept.  The  markets  are  held  here,  and  to-morrow  we  will  see  a 
small  one,  so  I  agree  to  wait  in  patience.  Jacob  kept  apologiz- 
ing for  the  present  desertion  of  the  square.  He  was  evidently 
disappointed  with  my  tepid  admiration  of  the  "  swell  quarter " 
of  the  place,  for  he  had  given  me  to  understand  that  such  a  spot 
was  his  dream  in  case  he  ever  got  rich  (on  petroleum  shares,  I 
fancy).  We  would  just  have  a  glimpse  of  the  old  gateway  near 
the  square,  on  our  way  home.  The  moonlight  did  all  it  could  to 
silver  it  with  a  romantic  shimmer,  but  it  didn't  shimmer  itself 
into  anything  very  impressive,  for  all  that.  It  had  just  been 
newly  painted,  as  I  soon  discovered,  while  fondly  patting  its 
rounded  sides  (after  the  manner  of  callow  antiquaries).  One 
might  as  well  try  to  shake  hands  with  it ! 

"  Surely,  Jacob,  this  is  not  a  very  old  gateway  ?  it  looks  so 
new  and  fresh." 

"  Oh,  dot's  de  baint — you  got  zome  on  you  klof — but  you  bet 
she  is  old,  dese  gate  !  She  is  ever  so  many  'ondered  year  old,  if 
she's  a  day ;"  and  he  blew  his  nasal  trumpet-blast  on  his  check 
bandanna  mainsail,  and  stood  to  his  gate  as  if  he  were  the  defi- 
ant warder  thereof.  "  We  will  zee  it  better  in  de  morning,  and 
you  will  zay  wot  an  ole  gate  she  is ;  and  den  you  see  dot  oder 
gateway  dere — de  '  Deffil's  'Ouse  ' — and  you  see  if  you  don't  zay 
dot  she's  ole  enough,  too.  Besides,  /  know  de  deffil  is  an  ole 
gate'ouse,  anyway,  because  I've  always  been  tole  so!" 


314  Devices  for  Sketching. 

There  was  no  arguing  with  such  convictions ;  and,  as  it  was 
getting  rather  late,  and  the  old  boy  was  growing  tired  and  testy, 
we  just  strolled  on  home  by  way  of  the  river,  sitting  down  un- 
der the  trees  for  a  while,  to  give  him  a  rest,  and  enjoy  the  broad, 
moonlit  river.  The  rising  mists  from  it  made  the  moored  ship- 
ping look  thin  and  weird ;  their  twinkling  lights  wavered  in 
snaky  reflections  on  its  slowly  swirling  tide.  I  thought  of  a 
certain  broad  river  miles  and  miles  away,  and  in  less  than  two 
minutes  began  to  turn  sadly  homesick. 

"  Take  me  away,  Jacob.  This  will  serve  for  our  first  even- 
ing at  Arnheim."  There  is  nothing  like  a  cosey,  well-kept  hotel 
to  neutralize  a  tendency  to  nostalgia.  Ours  was  most  com- 
fortable and  amusing.  The  landlord  knew  Jacob  like  a  first 
cousin  (as  usual),  and  there  was  no  lack  of  attention  and  kind- 
ness on  his  part  or  on  the  part  of  his  amiable  household. 

The  next  day  was  somewhat  showrery  and  blowy.  We  went 
out  all  the  same,  and  enjoyed  it.  There  are  certain  effects  and 
incidents  out  in  the  rain  that  one  never  sees  the  like  of,  for 
quaintness,  in  fine  weather ;  scurrying  groups  of  figures,  with 
"  clinging  draperies,"  swishing  with  the  wet.  There  are  always 
friendly  porchways  to  get  under  and  out  of  it  yourself ;  or  some- 
times, better  still,  one  can  find  a  convenient  cafe  "  giving  on  " 
the  biggest  crowd  in  the  square ;  there  may  be  an  unoccupied 
table  by  the  window  nearest  the  street,  and,  by  ordering  a  few 
cups  of  coffee  and  a  cigar,  you  have  a  splendid  chance  to  sketch 
for  hours  unbothered.  We  often  did  this,  as  we  got  rest,  re- 
freshment, and  shelter  all  at  the  same  easy  rate.  And  the  wait- 
er will  not  mind  you  if  you  tip  him  with  a  few  mixed  metals  of 
the  coinage.  I  once  bought  a  new  sketch-book  (in  fact,  we  were 
always  buying  new  sketch-books,  Abbey  and  I — the  Dutch  pa- 
per is  so  enticing  and  cheap),  and  I  stood  by  the  window  of  the 
shop  to  try  it  on  a  passer-by.    The  obliging  bookseller  offered 


* 


The  Arch-Fiend. 


317 


me  a  chair,  and  I  sat  in  that  window  bay  all  the  afternoon,  and 
half  filled  that  book,  and  bought  a  few  more.  Rainy  days  are 
the  best  fun  going,  in  a  crowded  Dutch  market-place.  A  railway 
station  is  a  lovely  place,  too,  to  catch  the  fleeting  types  of  cos- 
tume and  character;  they  sit  and  stand  about  at  your  mercy, 
waiting  for  their  trains.  One  has  only  to  get  a  corner  seat, 
and  his  back  well  jammed  into  it,  so  that  he  can't  be  over- 
looked, and,  my  word  for  it,  there  is  good  sport  to  be  had. 

The  evil-reputed,  grim  "Devil's  House  "stands  in  the  square, 
just  back  of  the  cathedral.  I  was  prepared  with  my  most  sym- 
pathetic shudder,  after  all  the  tales  I  had  heard  of  it.  We  had 
come  upon  it  unawares  to  me,  and  I  found  myself  walking  in 
and  out  under  the  archway,  trying  to  catch  a  bit  of  over  the 
way,  and  be  out  of  the  rain.  My  bit  finished,  I  looked  about 
me  for  the  first  time,  and  I  then  began  to  suspect  that  the  huge, 
hideous  caricatures  of  the  "  mortal  enemy,"  each  holding  a  mass 
of  overhanging  doorway  on  his  wicked,  horned  head,  and  grin- 
ning a  grin  of  acute  suffering,  rather  than  menace,  to  affright 
the  average  child  of  man,  was  the  "  arch-fiend  "  himself.  I  be- 
gan to  suspect,  also,  some  dreadful  flash  of  humor  in  the  bygone 
builder  of  the  house,  in  thus  making  him  support  his  character 
of  tfTY/z-fiend.  There  may  be  some  grain  of  authority,  in  some  of 
the  musty  records  of  the  old  Town-hall,  for  this  free  surmise  on 
my  part,  and  to  think  that  I  had  no  time  to  run  over  the  Town-hall 
archives  and  find  out !  Any  way,  joke  or  no  joke,  there  they 
were,  the  poor  devils,  and  had  been  for  centuries,  grinning  under 
their  load  of  ponderous  arch,  for  their  sins.  The  good  people  of 
the  town  were  in  no  way  disposed  to  treat  the  effigies  with  scorn 
or  contumely ;  in  fact,  they  had  given  them  every  kindly  care 
that  images  could  expect.  Each  long-enduring  demon  had  just 
had  the  fresh  ointment  of  healing  putty  jammed  into  his  gaping 
wounds  and  cracks,  and  his  parched  and  scaling  hide  treated  to 


3i8 


More  Rain. 


a  salve  of  fawn-colored  paint ;  and  both  the  devils  and  the  arch- 
way, and  even  the  whole  house-front,  shone  again  from  the  ef- 
fects of  that  restoring  agency.  I  stood  under  the  porch  and 
sketched  it,  and  various  other  things,  and  managed  to  imprint 
a  large  blotch  of  fresh  fawn-color  on  my  shoulder,  and  that  was 
about  all  the  awful  impression  the  house  of  the  demons  made 
on  me.  It  has  a  long  and  grisly  history.  I  went  into  it  no  far- 
ther than  the  various  guide-books  could  take  me.  It  seemed 
veiled  in  more  mystery  than  I  had  time  or  desire  to  fathom  just 
then.  I  shall  always  think  pleasantly  of  the  awful  house,  on  ac- 
count of  its  kindly,  sheltering  archway,  so  useful  to  me  on  that 
day  of  drizzle  and  damp.  I  could  there  gather  in  the  pictu- 
resque passer-by  when  the  figure  happened  to  be  worth  while, 
which  was  not  often.  There  is  not  much  in  the  way  of  distinc- 
tive dress  to  be  noted,  especially  among  the  natives.  Down 
along  the  quays,  among  the  sailor-folk,  a  few  stray  mariners 
from  far-off  Zeeland  or  Duiveland  may  enliven  the  scene,  but 
most  of  the  others  fail  entirely.  Even  the  street  urchin  is  far 
too  conventional  to  waste  a  second  glance  on.  The  market- 
place had  a  few  rustics  of  an  amusing  pattern  from  the  sur- 
rounding country,  but,  at  the  best,  nothing  to  begin  with  the 
most  ordinary  in  a  Zeeland  market-town. 

The  next  day  was  not  only  rainy  again,  but  it  was  Sunday; 
and  though  that  day  is  rather  a  restless  than  a  restful  one  in 
the  Low  Countries,  bringing  out  gay  groups  of  holiday -clad 
people,  sporting  their  best  old  family  plate  in  their  filmy  lace 
caps,  and  jewelled  heirlooms  about  their  ample  throats,  and 
swinging  in  their  rosy  ears,  here,  somehow,  most  of  the  people 
seemed  to  think  such  gauds  "  bad  form,"  and  only  made  a  dole- 
ful parade  of  sober  blacks  or  sad  grays,  and  jackets  of  the  fash- 
ion before  the  last.  There  was  scarcely  a  bright  green,  or  even 
the  most  modest  scarlet,  or  retiring  light-blue,  umbrella,  to  give 


Sunday  Distractions. 


319 


a  bit  of  point  to  the  color  of  the  slowly  moving  groups,  smoking 
their  way  to  church,  or  back  from  it. 

Down  by  the  river,  however,  there  were  the  inevitable 
groups  of  Sunday  anglers ;  rain,  nor  hail,  nor  fear  of  scandal 
awed  them  in  the  least.  They  seemed  a  sociable  set  among 
themselves.  There  was  no  seeking  out  a  retired  spot,  and  each 
selfishly  trying  to  lure  away  his  neighbor's  gudgeon.    They  got 


WET  SUNDAY  AT  ARNHEIM. 

closely  together  in  pleasantly  arranged  groups,  and  chatted  and 
laughed,  and  tangled  each  other's  lines,  and  lied  enormously,  no 
doubt,  about  the  fish  they  caught  "  the  other  day,"  and  seemed 
to  rather  enjoy  the  rain  than  not. 

Now  and  again  the  sun  would  struggle  through  the  shifting- 
skeins  of  drizzle,  and  turn  to  golden  haze  the  vapor  from  the 
slow,  dun -colored  stream,  and  light  up  with  a  wan  blush  the 


320 


High  Old  Ti?nes. 


sere  and  yellow  trees  across  the  river,  on  the  flat,  green  mead- 
ows beyond.  It  formed  no  bad  background  for  the  eager 
groups  of  fishers,  with  their  waving  rods  at  every  angle  against 
the  sky  and  water.  Jacob  sadly  wanted  me  to  drive  out  into 
the  country,  to  some  wood,  or  "  bosch,"  but  I  too  keenly  re- 
membered a  certain  drive  through  a  certain  Prince's  Wood  on 
a  damp,  autumn  day  to  wish  to  try  such  joys  again.  He  then 
suggested  the  old  town  of  Nijmegen.  On  that  very  day  they 
would  celebrate,  with  all  their  remaining  vigor,  the  closing  car- 
nival of  a  week's  kermesse. 

Alas  !  I  had  a  too  sorrowful  remembrance  of  just  such  a 
pow-wow  at  Purmerend  the  year  before  to  spring  to  this  propo- 
sal at  once.  A  year,  however,  is  a  long  time  to  harbor  animos- 
ity. I  had  often  laughed,  during  that  time,  over  some  of  the  wild 
scenes  of  that  long,  rackety  night.  Months  afterwards,  while, 
"  deep  in  the  velvet  sinking  "  of  a  luxurious  couch  near  to  gild- 
ed ball-room,  I  watched  the  twinkling  flash  of  dainty  satin 
shoes,  mingled  with  the  larger  and  more  sustaining  effort  of 
manly  patent  -  leather,  "  chasing  the  weary  hours  with  flying 
feet,"  to  the  strains  of  the  Coldstream  Band,  suddenly  there 
came  the  wild  refrain  of  that  pandemonium  of  a  fair  at  Dutch 
Purmerend  —  "  Le  Beau  Nicholas."  I  could  but  smile  a  smile 
of  kindly  greeting  to  it ;  I  could  hear  the  lusty  Dutch  voices 
shouting,  howling,  hurling  out  the  words  in  broken  French, 
"  Nicko-lzx !  NEEK-o-laar !  Ah-ah-ah  ! ! !"  that  rent  the  maddened 
air  all  that  wild  night.  How  lovely  it  seemed  now,  as  it  spun 
about  the  swishing  coat-tails  and  lace  frillings  in  that  swift  "ga- 
lop." And  to  think  how  those  wildly  prancing  North  Dutch 
revellers  had  tried  to  splinter  the  floors  with  their  great  clogs 
to  every  salient  note  of  it !  It  was  not  far  to  Nijmegen ;  we 
could  be  there  in  time  for  luncheon,  and  see  the  town  and 
such  of  the  kermessing  as  we  liked,  and  then,  if  need  be, 


Public  Works. 


321 


escape  the  terrors  of  the  inevitable  midnight  racket  by  taking 
the  train  to  Bois-le-Duc.  I  felt  that  I  was  not  doing  quite  all 
my  duty  to  Arnheim,  for  I  had  heard  that  the  surrounding 
country  is  simply  delightful.  I  consoled  my  conscience  with 
a  short  mem. — "  Do  this  place  another  time,  earlier  in  the  sea- 
son." And  then  we  gathered  our  belongings,  and  trained  off 
to  festive  Nijmegen. .  It  was  not  very  far,  but  it  seemed  hun- 
dreds of  miles  away  in  differences  of  character  and  people. 

There  was  not  the  same  "form"  and  primness,  the  same  de- 
votion to  starch  and  brilliantine,  or  even  to  clothes-brush  and 
hair-brush,  in  Nijmegen.  Perhaps  it  was  hardly  fair  to  remark 
these  things  without  crediting  the  good  folk  of  Nijmegen  with 
a  whole  week's  "jubilation."  The  town  itself  looked  messy, 
and  "traipsed"  with  clinging,  greasy  mud  of  a  sandy  yellow. 
This  sad  condition  of  things  also  needs  an  apology,  and,  I 
might  say,  a  sigh  of  regret.  They  were  laying  shovel  and 
pick  and  blasting-powder  to  the  ancient  walls  and  ramparts  of 
the  town.  Bastions  and  towers  and  gateways  and  moats  were 
disappearing  in  dust  and  mud.  They  were  toppling  over  their 
ancient  and  honorable  defences  into  the  weedy  ditch,  and  fill- 
ing in  the  stray  holes  with  any  extra  rubbish  to  give  it  con- 
sistency and  flavor,  and  then  smoothing  it  all  nicely  down,  and 
planting  wispy  trees,  and  setting  out  some  chilly  iron  seats,  and 
flattering  their  stupid  but  honest  souls  with  the  idea  that  the 
new  boulevard  they  were  making  would  break  the  hearts  of  the 
modernizing  burghers  of  Arnheim  or  Bois-le-Duc. 

For  myself,  I  have  shed  all  the  tears  that  I  can  spare  over 
this  kind  of  vandalism.  I  am  getting  so  used  to  it  in  Holland 
that  I  merely  say  over  to  myself,  "  Good  frend,  for  Iesus'  sake, 
forbeare  !"  when  I  see  the  pick  and  shovel  stirring  up  the  time- 
honored  dust,  and  moving  the  ancient  brick  and  stone. 

It  was  a  splendid  day  for  fleeting  effects  of  light  and  shade, 

21 


322 


Beauties  of  Nijmegen. 


for  wind-blown  movement  and  unstudied  action.  How  the  viv- 
id umbrellas  were  fluttered  about,  and  the  beribboned  caps  and 
gay  kerchiefs  flapped  in  the  breeze !  and  how  jolly  and  good- 
natured  they  all  were ! — not  a  little  tangled  and  battered  and 
high-tinted  after  their  week's  hilarity,  some  few  of  them,  but 
still  even  those  seemed  to  have  a  good  stock  of  endurance  left. 
Whenever  the  pulse  of  revelry  was  likely  to  beat  a  little  slowly, 
there  was  always  ready  a  fresh  influx  of  new  blood  to  be  let 
into  the  veins  of  fun.  The  train  we  came  by  was  brimming 
over  with  a  merry  crowd  from  the  country  round,  eager  to  let 
out  its  rich  flow  of  pent-up  animal  spirits  wherever  the  revels 
might  seem  to  lag.  The  refreshment -booths  were  full;  there 
was  not  much  noise;  every  one  seemed  quietly  laying  in  a  sup- 
ply of  "  motive  power  "  for  the  midnight  fandango,  or  to  repair 
the  lost  tissue  wasted  in  the  whirling  fray  of  the  previous  night. 
The  choice  spirits  of  Arnheim  and  the  roystering  lads  and 
lasses  of  Bois-le-Duc  had  evidently  come  in  force  to  dance  for 
the  palm  of  endurance  with  what  was  left  of  the  revellers  of 
Nijmegen.  There  was  a  fine  touch  of  the  old  fire  of  mediaeval 
rivalry  of  town  and  town  in  it  all ;  but  it  was  rather  sad  and 
sinful  on  the  whole.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  gone  knowingly  out  of 
my  way,  from  peaceful,  quiet,  prim  Arnheim,  on  purpose  to  be 
shocked.  The  only  concession  I  could  well  make  to  any  out- 
raged sense  of  propriety  was  to  get  out  of  the  thick  of  the  rev- 
ellers as  soon  as  I  had  satisfied  a  modest  amount  of  shocked 
curiosity.  We  went  to  an  excellent  and  quiet  place  for  lunch — 
the  Hotel  Boggia,  in  the  market  square,  the  landlord  speaking 
excellent  English.  After  that  we  strolled  around  the  outer  fringe 
of  the  fair  and  into  some  of  the  old  churches,  and  some  of  the 
civic  buildings  in  the  by-squares.  The  old  Town-hall  is  very 
picturesque,  and  is  mostly  uninjured  in  its  best  portions  of  an- 
cient work.    The  old  houses  in  the  streets  are  very  numerous 


Other  Matters. 


323 


and  good  ;  in  fact,  some  of  them  strikingly  so.  The  town  slopes 
upward  from  the  river  Waal  to  what  is  quite  a  notable  hill  in 
these  parts.  We  mounted  this,  up  a  straggling,  tree-shaded 
street  to  a  fair  "  outsight,"  looking  over  miles  of  level,  river-laced 
country.  There  is  an  old  watch  -  tower  on  this  hill,  of  rather 
good  lines,  and  generally  picturesque.    We  sat  on  a  convenient 


NIJMEGEN. 

bench  by  the  tower,  and  looked  down  upon  the  tree -shaded 
river  and  town.  Nijmegen  was  seemingly  rich  in  parks  and 
gardens,  and  the  whole  panorama  was  warmed  and  gilded  with 
the  bronzed  tones  of  the  October  foliage.  The  distant  hum  of 
the  fair  seemed  like  the  buzz  of  some  great  hive  of  bees,  and 
it  was  far  more  restful.  There  was  a  certain  sense  of  enchant- 
ment lent  to  the  murmur  of  the  far-off  throng  by  the  wide  in- 


324 


Lots  of  Met  tow  Dutchmen. 


tervening  stretch  of  russet-leaved  tree-tops.  There  was  a  prom- 
ise of  something  to  note  down  by  the  river-side,  where  a  couple 
of  large  ferryboats  were  plying  to  and  from  the  other  shore 
with  more  revellers  for  the  kermesse.  We  wended  our  way  to 
the  river  to  see  about  it,  naturally.  The  boats  were  not  things 
to  enjoy,  but  the  passengers  were,  many  of  them,  a  rare  treat. 
I  regretted  to  note  that  a  few  had  already  been  "  treated,"  and 
not  wisely,  and  too  well.  They  were  all  happy,  however,  and 
good-tempered,  even  to  a  fault,  if  one  may  find  a  slight  error  in 
their  ways. 

The  Dutch  are  so  genial  and  industrious  and  "decent," 
generally,  that  one  can  afford  to  come  upon  a  kermesse  (espe- 
cially if  he  goes  out  of  his  way  to  it)  now  and  then,  and  look 
at  the  jovial  side  of  their  picturesque  carouse,  much  as  Teniers 
and  Brouwer  did. 

The  ferry  amused  us  until  it  was  time  to  ramble  over  to  the 
station,  along  the  sad  line  where  the  ancient  donjons  and  ram- 
parts were  grovelling  in  the  fosse  before  the  coming  steam  tram 
and  the  asphalted  promenade.  The  train  had  just  arrived  from 
some  near-by  town,  gorged  with  jubilant  kermessers ;  and,  as 
they  streamed  out  of  the  station  and  went  prancing  town- 
wards,  I  was  tempted  to  chant,  with  the  old  cynic  in  the  comic 
opera : 

(Aloud) 

"  Happy  villagers,  dance  away ! ! 
(Aside,  with  glee) 

Too  much  exercise  brings  on  cramp, 
Fits,  convulsions,  sudden  death !" 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


BOIS-LE-DUC. 

IT  was  a  quiet  ride  to  Bois-le-Duc,  or  "  S'  Bosch,"  as  you 
might  say,  if  a  native.  We  arrived  at  the  Golden  Lion 
just  in  time  for  its  "  dable  d'ote,"  as  Jacob  fondly  hoped 
we  would.  That  worthy  had  not  been  enjoying  the  day  at  all. 
I  fancy  that,  by  dint  of  showing  the  kermesse  to  the  wander- 
ing tourist  too  often,  he  was  getting  aweary  of  it  himself. 

Although  a  quiet  place  is  usually  grateful  after  the  turmoil 
of  a  fair,  I  must  say  that  Bois-le-Duc  is  too  much  of  a  change. 
The  silent  churchyard  would  not  seem  very  cold  and  lonesome 
after  an  hour  or  two  of  the  chill,  stagnant,  lifeless  air  that  hung 
over  and  about  us  on  that  sad,  grewsome  evening. 

The  squeak  of  the  fiddles  and  the  general  racket  still  sung 
in  my  ears ;  perhaps  I  ought  to  have  been  glad  of  the  buzzing 
echo,  as  it  kept  my  thoughts  from  being  loaded  clown  by  the 
all-pervading  gloom  of  that  ancient  inn.  It  was  old  enough, 
but  it  had  been  robbed  of  all  the  charm  that  comes  of  antiquity. 
It  was  a  senile,  weak  old  inn,  with  foolish  stairways  and  dod- 
dering, dim  passages  —  clean  enough,  and  tolerably  well  kept, 
and  the  people  sufficiently  willing  and  attentive ;  enough  of  ev- 
erything except  the  charm  that  should  go  with  its  "  period." 
When  the  sad,  serious  table  d'hote  had  run  its  courses,  the  de- 
pressed guests  produced  their  damp,  green  cigars,  and  favored 
us  with  a  generous  stifle  of  acrid  smoke.  They  meant  it  all 
kindly  and  sociably  enough,  but  we  did  not  care  to  join  in  the 


326  All  Right  Again. 

general  reek.  The  chill  outside  air  was  as  near  the  point  of 
complete  saturation  as  the  hygrometer  could  arrange  it  without 
a  deluge.  However,  we  ventured  out  into  it  for  a  change  of 
atmosphere.  There  was  a  brilliantly  lighted  cafe  open,  and  in 
there  we  turned  to  take  our  coffee,  and  to  see  such  life  as  might 
be  stirring.  The  waiter,  as  a  delicate  compliment  to  me,  brought 
a  London  paper,  weeks  old.  I  read  it  all,  with  an  approach  to 
wild  joy.  We  then  sought  our  chilly  inn.  Jacob  had  had  the 
happy  forethought  to  order  a  fire  in  the  great,  rambling  bed- 
room, and,  as  we  opened  the  door,  it  was  worth  anything  as  a 
cheering  surprise.  We  sat  down  before  it  for  an  hour  or  two, 
and  Jacob  actually  warmed  to  himself  again,  and  told  me  a  few 
"vonny  chokes"  as  a  pleasant  wind-up  to  the  dreary  evening. 

The  next  day  was  a  kind  of  market-day  for  butter  and  eggs, 
and  other  good  things,  from  the  fat  farms  about.  The  sun  was 
dispersing  the  clinging  mists,  and  things  generally  were  emerg- 
ing from  their  chill  dulness.  The  streets  were  alive  with  move- 
ment and  color,  and  pleasant  with  busy  chatter.  Jacob  was 
beaming  as  brightly  as  the  rosy  morn  itself ;  he  had  discovered 
that  our  host  was  uncle  to  a  cousin's  brother-in-law,  or  some  such 
involved  kin  and  kind,  and  we  were  to  have  such  a  breakfast  to 
ourselves  in  a  little  private  room  "  as  will  mek  your  eye  wotter." 
We  would  just  take  a  turn  around  the  market  square.  Would  I  - 
go  and  see  the  pigs  or  the  butter  ?  I  thought  the  latter  might 
best  suit  the  dainty  whim  of  an  early  morning  appetite,  for 
savor  and  suggestiveness  of  color.  Besides,  it  was  farther  away, 
and  would  give  us  more  of  a  trot.  It  turned  out  to  be  the 
freshest,  crispest,  dewiest-looking  array  of  the  fat  o'  the  land  that 
one  could  well  see  anywhere.  There  were  rows  of  brilliantly 
clear  pink-and-white  complexioned  dames  and  damsels,  with 
great  flat  baskets  of  golden  butter,  the  deftly  patted  and  stamped 
rolls  just  peeping  out  of  the  neatly  folded  snowy  napkins,  and 


Substantial  Beauties.  327 

all  cooled  on  beds  of  fresh  green  leaves.  More  flat  baskets  of 
new-laid  eggs,  so  new  that  the  shells  looked  the  mat-o,o\ox  of  a 
white  rose. 

The.  market-women  were  mostly  inside  the  market  proper, 
but  many  were  out-doors,  under  great  tent-like  umbrellas  of  fine 
positive  reds  and  blues.    They  are,  perhaps,  inordinately  vain  of 


OLD  GATEWAY  IN  NIJMEGEN. 


their  great  spreading  lace  caps  (and  often  is  the  lace  of  good  old 
"  point "),  and  their  long  pendent  ear-rings  flashing  in  the  sun  ; 
their  fat,  pink  hands,  folded  patiently  over  the  handles  of  their 
baskets,  are  ringed  heavily  with  wide  hoops  of  barbaric  gold. 
Broad  necklets  of  coral  or  deep  garnets  are  clasped  about  the 
throat  with  archaic  clasps,  often  set  with  precious  stones.  Many 
of  them  had  brushed  the  morning  dew  from  the  fields,  tramping 


328 


Catholic  Holland. 


here  with  the  produce  of  their  snug  farms.  They  were  all 
bright-eyed  and  merry  and  strong,  and  all  too  much  engaged,  I 
found,  with  the  serious  pursuit  of  selling  butter  or  eggs,  to  mind 
being  sketched,  in  the  least. 

What  a  different-looking  Bois-le-Duc  from  last  evening,  and 
what  another  sight  after  yesterday's  revel !  It  was  like  a  breath 
of  pure,  crisp  air  after  a  stifling  room.  When  we  had  discussed 
the  promised  "  little  breakfast,"  which  was  really  a  picture  of 
sparkling  freshness  after  the  stodgy  table  d'hote  of  the  night  be- 
fore, we  went  back  to  the  butter  market  again.  Somehow,  the 
first  freshness  seemed  to  have  gone  off  everything.  The  dew 
had  dried  from  the  hems  of  the  manifold  and  ample  skirts  of 
the  dairy-maids,  and  their  crisp  produce  seemed  wilting  under 
the  blare  and  heat  of  the  throng.  I  hastened  away  before  the 
first  crisp  impression  on  my  memory  wilted  also. 

There  was  an  odd  corner  of  the  market-place  for  "  antiques  " 
in  the  shape  of  odds  and  ends  of  all  sorts  of  dejected  rubbish. 
All  of  it  had  been  carefully  sorted  over  by  the  keen  eye  of  the 
small  experts,  and  there  was  nothing  left,  even  for  the  most  sim- 
ple and  confiding  beginner  in  bric-a-brac.  There  was  much 
clanging  and  booming  of  the  many  church  bells  every  few  min- 
utes, which  reminded  us  that  the  splendid  old  cathedral  was  far 
better  worth  our  seeing  than  the  turmoil  of  the  butter  market. 
I  remembered,  too,  that  we  were  in  the  very  thick  of  the  cream  of 
Catholic  Holland,  in  the  capital  of  Brabant  itself,  which  has  al- 
ways been  the  stronghold  of  the  faith  in  the  Netherlands.  All 
through  Protestant  Holland  the  great  churches  and  the^ cathe- 
drals are  generally  the  most  bare  and  uninviting  temples  that 
one  can  imagine,  but  here  they  seem  living,  fervent  things. 
There  is  no  mistaking  the  spirit  of  devotion  and  earnest  faith 
one  sees  here  on  every  side,  whether  one  believe  in  it  or  not. 
There  is  always  some  grand  old  music  to  hear,  and  generally 


Malarious  Environment. 


3-9 


something  picturesque  and  impressive  in  the  way  of  ceremonial 
to  see.  It  was  pleasant  wandering  in  and  out  as  one  listed  ; 
the  great  baize-covered  door  wras  always  swinging  to  and  fro, 
and  crowds  meandered  in  and  out,  as  if  the  church  were  part  of 
the  highway.  The  building  itself  is  one  of  the  most  important 
in  size  and  architectural  claims  of  any  of  those  of  the  Nether- 
lands. It  is  not  so  very  old,  as  churches  go,  being  built  in  the 
early  fifteenth  century,  but  it  looks  so  crumbled  and  mumbled  by 
nibbling  Time,  that  one  would  not  be  surprised  (except  judging 
from  its  style)  to  hear  that  it  was  many  hundreds  older.  The 
stone  of  which  it  is  built  is  so  soft  and  sandy  that  it  seems 
powdering  away  at  every  blast  of  wind.  There  are  some  very 
good  bits  of  wood  and  stone  carving  inside,  but  there,  too,  the 
stone  is  gradually  being  dusted  away  by  the  very  action  of  the 
air  upon  it. 

From  out  the  dimly  lighted  fane,  filled  with  musky  incense, 
and  the  thrill  of  young  singing  voices  and  deep  organ  tones,  into 
the  sunny  air  again,  we  wandered  towards  a  park -like  place, 
and  sat  under  the  tall  trees.  We  were  on  part  of  the  old  battle- 
ments, commanding  a  sweep  of  the  surrounding  country  for 
many  miles.  It  was  a  low,  swampy  waste,  "too,  most  of  it — so 
low  and  watery  that  for  many  of  the  rainy  months  of  the  year 
it  will  be  like  a  vast,  shallow  lake,  entirely  surrounding  the 
town.  It  was  then  fairly  dried  up,  and  I  hear  they  have  done 
much  to  drain  it  in  late  years.  It  was  all  very  picturesque  and 
agreeable,  in  arrangement  of  pool,  canal,  and  river — a  joy  to  the 
soul  that  is  above  fears  of  malaria.  There  are  some  good  old 
gateways  and  parts  of  the  old  defences  still  standing,  and  I 
really  fancy  that,  as  yet,  they  are  unthreatened  with  improve- 
ment. The  Town-hall  is  a  good,  worthy  edifice,  with  no  direct 
claims  on  our  gratitude  for  anything  in  the  way  of  delightful 
architecture. 


33Q 


Relics  of  the  Grand  Inquisitors. 


The  imposing  design  of  it  had  evidently  inspired  much  ad- 
miration in  its  day  and  generation,  but  it  was  a  poor  time  for 
architectural  inspiration  just  then.  It  contains  some  fairly 
good  old  tapestries  on  the  walls  of  its  council-chambers,  and 
some  mildly  interesting  old  portraits  on  its  walls.  There  is 
a  rather  restricted  museum  on  the  premises  also,  consisting 
mainly  of  corporation  relics,  badges,  insignia,  keys,  plate,  and 
some  ancient  parchments,  some  bits  of  armor,  and  a  few  flags 
and  banners — nothing  very  old  or  startling.  In  the  other  de- 
partments, at  the  top  of  the  building,  in  rooms  that  look  like 
best  front-attic  bedrooms,  there  is  a  very  complete  and  blood- 
thirsty-looking array  of  instruments  of  disgrace,  torture,  and 
death.  In  good  old  troubled  times  they  seemed  to  be  rather 
fertile  in  fantastic  inventions  for  making  misery  and  death  as 
acute  and  shameful  as  possible. 

The  Inquisition  in  Brabant  in  those  sweet  days  was  evi- 
dently most  enterprising  and  painstaking.  There  was  nothing 
new  or  interesting  in  engines  of  torture  that  they  were  not 
cheerfully  disposed  to  encourage  with  a  fair  trial.  We  were 
shown  over  the  place  by  an  old  lady  custodian,  who  looked  like 
a  picture  by  Franz  Hals.  It  was  a  nice,  kindly  face,  with  a 
wisp  of  gray  hair  pulled  back  under  her  tight-fitting  cap.  She 
only  wanted  a  large  crimped  ruff  or  a  white,  smoothly -folded 
pinner  to  have  made  her  perfect.  She  did  not  make  as  much 
of  the  tapestries  and  the  civic  silver  as  she  might  have  done ; 
she  was  evidently  reserving  herself  for  the  pretty  playthings 
above  stairs.  After  an  earnest  confab  with  Jacob,  that  worthy 
turned  to  me  with  real  glee  in  his  eye : 

"  She  zay  dey  got  oop-stair  de  biggest  collaksin  of  dose  ma- 
sheen  wot  dey  use  to  ax-e-koot  peebles  wiz  in  ole  times,  wot  you 
don't  find  in  all  Holland.  S'e  zay  dot  de  strangers  com  from  all 
ofer  de  woiT  to  zee  dis  collaksin,  an'  de  all  zay  dis  is  de  nicest" 


Cheerful  Devices. 


33i 


The  taste  in  these  fearsome  things  has  evidently  not  entire- 
ly died  out,  and  yet  I  never  heard  of  a  private  collector  of  such 
bric-a-brac.  It  was,  indeed,  a  large  and  varied  show,,  many  of 
the  things  having  quaint  pet  names.  The  old  lady  explained 
many  of  them  to  Jacob  with  much  glee,  and  to  that  worthy's 
intense  delight.  One,  a  half-tub-like  contrivance,  with  a  hole 
the  size  of  a  person's  head  through  the  bottom,  was  explained 
as  the  "  new  cloak." 

"  Dese  masheen  was  worn  by  any  womans  wot  was  took  in 
adulteration.  She  was  marched  droo  de  streets,  and  any  one 
wot  like  can  trouw  dirt  and  rodden  aig  at  her.  S'e  has  'er  hans 
tied  pehine  'er  pack,  so  dot  she  can't  zay  anyting  to  help 
'erzelif." 

"  And  how  about  the  other  ?  What  did  they  devise  for 
him  ?" 

Jacob  translated  to  the  old  lady,  who  seemed  enormously 
tickled  at  the  simplicity  of  the  question.  She  gave  some  expla- 
nation to  Jacob,  of  an  amusing  character,  and  they  again  laughed 
in  concert. 

"  S'e  zay  dot  'istory  don'  zay  motch  of  de  oder  vallow — ber- 
aps  he  ron  away  ;  berhaps  de  'osband  of  de  woman  wot  wears 
dot,  he  just  kick  'im  wen  'e  zee  'im — s'e  don'  know." 

As  there  seemed  no  use  in  pursuing  this  subject  further 
while  my  informants  were  in  so  frivolous  a  state  of  mind,  I 
turned  my  attention  to  other  objects  in  the  room.  There  was 
nearly  every  well-known,  and,  to  me,  several  quite  unique,  instru- 
ments of  devilish  device.  The  mere  sight  of  them  was  enough 
to  make  the  flesh  creep.  I  liked  them  not  enough  to  note  down 
their  vile  names  or  uses. 

In  place  of  the  usual  wheel  on  which  the  offender  was 
broken,  there  was  a  large  framework  of  cross-barred  planks  with 
rings  at  each  corner,  to  pin  down  the  outstretched  limbs,  and  a 


332 


Satiety  of  Horrors. 


thick  iron  collar  to  confine  the  throat.  It  had  evidently  been 
used  more  than  once,  and  there,  beside  it,  was  the  crooked  iron 
bar  that  did  the  fearful  work.  The  good  lady,  with  the  kindly 
Franz  Hals  head,  was  evidently  used  to  showing  off  the  uses  of 
this  awful  crowbar,  as  she  could  swing  it  with  considerable  ease 
and  effectiveness — she  nearly  took  the  top  of  Jacob's  hat  within 
the  radius  of  one  flourish  of  it ;  but  that  was  his  fault  for  not 
keeping  a  watchful  eye  on  the  bar.  It  was  well  meant,  her  little 
entertainment,  but  it  was  rather  too  realistic.  I  did  not  care  to 
have  the  garotte  explained  in  all  its  sickening  details ;  even  the 
branding-irons  were  too  strong  for  the  jaded  senses.  "  We  will 
come  again  some  other  day,  tell  her,  Jacob.  I  didn't  know  the 
collection  was  so  large  and  awful."  It  was  a  real  relief,  even  the 
air  of  that  market  square,  that  has  seen  in  the  eventful  past 
some  of  those  same  rusty  engines  of  torture  and  death  at  work 
in  awful  earnest.  How  pleasant  to  me  seemed,  by  contrast,  the 
cluck  of  the  cooped  fowls,  and  the  querulous  squeal  of  the 
penned  pigs  !  they  were  the  only  victims  for  whose  blood  the 
chaffering,  higgling  crowds  were  clamoring.  We  turned  off 
from  the  mart  down  to  a  long,  tree-lined  quay.  There  was  a 
good  show  of  movement  and  traffic  up  and  down.  Bois-le-Duc 
is  not  a  "  dead  city  "  evidently.  We  sat  down  on  a  shaded  seat 
for  a  while,  to  watch  the  unloading  of  a  brick  barge.  This  work 
was  being  done  by  a  gang  of  about  twenty  lusty  women.  They 
had  to  run  up  and  dowrn  a  rather  steep  incline  from  the  low- 
laden  boat  to  the  top  of  the  high  embankment,  with  a  creel  of 
bricks  that  would  have  tired  many  a  hod-carrier.  They  did  not 
seem  to  mind  it ;  they  even  wasted  their  useful  breath  in  super- 
fluous laughter  and  chatter ;  their  rosy  faces  were  smirched  with 
the  inharmonious  raw  reds  of  brick-dust,  but  they  were  happy. 
I  was  allowed  to  sketch  them  in  peace,  for  a  wonder;  they  were 
too  busy  to  wish  to  look  on,  or  even  to  shy  a  section  of  brick 


Comparisons. 


333 


in  our  direction.  It  was  a  scene  of  picturesque,  and  often  stat- 
uesque, poses,  of  strong,  striking,  but  mostly  unlovely,  move- 
ments. 

If  a  Watteau  nymph  could  come  to  life,  and  step  from  her 
sylvan  groves,  in  her  glow  of  satin  and  snow  of  filmy  lace,  to  this 
scene,  how  her  peach-and-cream  flesh  would  shudder,  her  arched 
nuque  bow,  and  her  violet  eyes  hide  behind  her  azure  fan,  when 
she  heard  that  these  were  but  lowlier  sisters  of  her  own  race. 
And  yet,  if  a  worthy  picture  could  be  painted  of  this  scene,  as  I 
saw  it,  how  well  it  would  hang  beside  a  good  Watteau  ! 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


MAESTRICHT,  AND  HOME  AGAIN. 

THERE  was  much  in  Bois-le-Duc  to  tempt  me  to  stay 
longer,  but  there  was  a  still  stronger  attraction  towards 
distant  Maestricht  to  tempt  me  onward.  We,  therefore, 
took  the  early  train  next  day,  and  the  slow — though,  for  the  mat- 
ter of  that,  the  express  itself,  in  Holland,  leaves  nothing  to  desire 
in  the  way  of  quiet  deliberation.  The  ordinary  slow  train  had 
for  me  two  advantages :  it  would  stop  at  nearly  every  station, 
and  I  could  look  about  me  ;  besides,  it  was  cheaper,  and  conse- 
quently better  filled  with  the  people  of  the  country.  We  nearly 
always  went  second  or  third  class  for  this  very  reason,  and  were 
always,  in  certain  respects,  the  better  for  it ;  at  least,  I  found  my 
note-book  the  fuller  for  it.  In  our  second-class  compartment, 
on  that  day,  there  was  a  delightful  old  couple,  she  in  full  North- 
Holland  bravery,  with  the  inevitable  modern  bonnet  stuck  on  the 
top  of  her  national  head-gear,  of  course,  but  the  head-gear  by 
itself  was  lovely ;  great  filigree  gold  pendants,  hanging  from  the 
golden  bosses  at  either  temple,  a  broad  blade  of  chased  gold 
set  with  scrolls  of  brilliants  across  the  forehead,  and  over  it 
all  a  flowing  cap  of  old  Flemish  lace. 

I  was  missing  something  of  the  country  through  my  in- 
terest in  our  fellow-travellers.  The  cottages  were  not  so 
flourishy  as  those  we  had  left  behind  us,  or  the  land  itself 
quite  so  fat  and  fertile  as  the  best,  but  it  was  all  very  pleas- 
ant and  tidy.     The  fields  were  filled  with  workers,  mostly 


A  TILLER  OF  THE  SOIL. 


Change  in  the  Landscape. 


337 


women,  of  course,  digging,  delving,  harrowing,  weed  -  burning, 
manure-spreading,  cutting  cabbages,  and  sacking  the  potatoes. 
We  waited  for  a  good  two  hours  at  a  way  station — I  forgot 
to  note  its  name.  I  struck  out  into  the  country  roads,  and 
made  a  few  notes  of  the  lusty  field-hands,  who  lend  themselves 
so  easily  and  well  to  the  sketcher's  needs.  The  landscape  itself 
was  here  rather  more  Belgian  or  even  French  in  character  than 
Dutch ;  the  low  white  cottages  with  the  thatched  roofs,  the  tall 
wispy  trees  with  the  tuft  of  sparse  foliage  atop,  the  shapes  and 
colors  of  the  distant  church  towers  and  spires,  the  blue  blouses 
of  the  men,  the  close  caps  of  the  women  and  children,  were  good 
enough,  but  not  quite  like  Holland.  The  many  wayside  shrines 
and  Calvaires  told  of  a  distant  race  and  of  faith  in  the  strong 
ascendant.  The  closely  shaven  parish  priest  was  no  unfrequent 
figure  along  the  road,  listening  to  the  plaints  of  the  poor,  giving 
spiritual  comfort,  patting  the  fluffy  heads  of  the  children,  and 
going  on  his  various  village  duties.  We  always  had  a  cheery 
return  of  our  "  Good  -  day  "  from  them,  and  any  information,  or 
pleasant  chat,  in  French  that  we  might  desire.  I  was  making  a 
sketch  of  a  little  maid,  down  on  her  knees,  cutting  herbage  for 
the  rabbits  at  home,  when  the  good  cure  strayed  upon  the  scene 
and  took  an  interest  in  the  proceedings,  even  so  far  as  to  bid 
her  to  keep  a  little  quiet,  and  he  would  have  favored  us  with  her 
family  history  if  I  had  had  time.  We  had  many  changes  of  scene 
on  that  day.  It  was  not  all  smiling  landscape  and  rich,  teeming 
fields.  We  passed  by  miles  of  bog  and  swamp,  stunted  forests 
of  dwarf  birch  and  scraggy  pine,  and  acres  of  rich  peat  land,  with 
groups  of  diggers  laboring  in  the  black  trenches,  and  looking  as 
if  they  were  digging  so  many  soppy  graves.  They  were  not 
without  a  certain  impressiveness,  such  scenes,  especially  in  the 
waning  light  of  the  afternoon,  just  as  the  crows  were  wending 
their  way  towards  the  scraggy  wood.   The  streeling  lines  of  flap- 

22 


33« 


The  Evening  Glow  in  Maestricht. 


ping  wings,  and  their  rasping,  bronchial  note,  accorded  well  with 
the  lines  and  the  color  note  of  the  picture.  We  arrived  at  Wijck, 
the  over -the -river  suburb  of  Maestricht,  just  as  the  sun  was 
going  down.  It  gave  us  the  kindly  chance  of  seeing  the  finely 
varied  outlines  of  the  ancient  city  under  the  enhanced  value  of  an 
evening  effect.  As  we  turned  to  go  over  the  massive  old  stone 
bridge  we  got  all  the  "  relative  values  "  of  the  gray  old  town,  with 
its  fringe  of  belfries,  towers,  and  pinnacles,  its  rambling  roofs 
and  scrolly  weathercocks  cutting  sharp  against  the  twilight 
sky.  The  town  itself,  dim  and  blurred  with  hazy  smoke,  was 
reflected  in  the  tawny  stream  that  runs  past  it.  I  had  not  much 
time  to  admire  it.  A  hotel  -  omnibus  conductor,  chilled  with 
waiting  at  the  station,  is  usually  impelled  with  a  strong  desire 
to  show  the  unexpected  guest  to  his  hotel  landlady  as  soon  as 
possible.  It  did  not  take  us  long  to  see  our  rooms,  order  a  late 
dinner,  and  rush  out  again  to  see  the  last  of  the  rosy  light  before 
it  faded  to  ashen  gray  among  the  roofs  and  spires  of  the  old 
capital  of  Limburg.  We  first  sought  the  great  square,  to  see  the 
cathedral,  said  to  have  been  commenced  in  the  days  of  the  Roman 
occupation.  The  ponderous  masses  of  crumbling  stone  forming 
the  bulk  of  the  structure  were  built  in  the  fashion  of  that  time,  but 
it  looks  more  like  a  great  work  of  defence,  a  citadel  rather  than  a 
church.  The  late  additions  to  it,  during  the  fifteenth  and  six- 
teenth centuries,  are  those  that  give  it  its  ecclesiastical  charac- 
ter. On  the  wide  open  square,  lined  with  spreading  shade-trees, 
are  held  the  fairs  and  kermesse  revels.  It  was  at  one  time  the 
cathedral  cemetery,  but  many  years  ago  they  quietly  flagged  the 
dead  over  with  their  own  gravestones,  and  made  the  place  what 
it  is.  Here  the  old  mediaeval  pageants  and  processions  occurred, 
and  here,  during  the  days  of  conflicting  creeds  and  faiths,  did 

"  Christians  burn  each  other,  quite  persuaded 
That  the  apostles  would  have  done  as  they  did." 


Not  Real  Dutch. 


34 1 


The  old  town  is  far  more  German  and  Flemish  in  its  archi- 
tectural features  than  Dutch.  Jacob  always  spoke  of  the  inhab- 
itants as  "  dese  here  people,"  and  told  how  far  they  were  behind 
the  Hollanders  in  cleanliness  and  other  good  qualities.  They 
are  certainly  not  so  tidy  as  the  other  Dutch,  or  in  any  way  so 
well  worth  seeing  in  a  picturesque  sense.  The  outside  views  of 
the  town,  the  old  walls,  and  the  gardens  straying  down  to  the 
river,  the  quaint  shipping,  and  all  that,  are  quite  fine,  and  well 
worth  coming  to  see.  The  churches,  and  the  old  gate  called 
"  De  Helpoort,"  are  entirely  worthy  of  the  student,  if  not  too  far 
out  of  his  way ;  but  for  all  that  it  has  to  show  of  strictly  Dutch 
character,  the  sketcher  in  that  direction  had  better  keep  to  Haar- 
lem, Middelburg,  and  Dordrecht.  For  all  the  combined  good 
qualities  of  a  fine  old  Netherlandish  town,  such  as  churches, 
houses,  shipping,  people,  and  country  round  about,  I  should  say 
that  Dordrecht  would  take  the  medal.  I  fain  would  have  gone 
there  again  on  my  way  home,  for  at  last  I  heard  of  my  vagarious 
companion  of  last  year,  as  being  there,  among  a  set  of  hard 
sketchers  stopping  at  the  "  White  Nag."  But  my  own  time  was 
up,  and  I  made  the  interesting  bit  of  country  between  Maestricht 
and  Flushing  a  sacrifice  to  my  need  to  be  at  home.  I  parted 
with  the  faithful  Jacob  at  Roosendaal ;  it  was  all  I  could  do  to 
prevent  him  from  straying  with  me  down  to  Flushing  —  "To 
mek  shoor  you  kitz  de  right  boat."  He  was  so  used  to  looking 
after  the  bags  that  his  last  look  at  them  was  one  of  doubt  if 
I  would  not  walk  off  and  leave  them  behind.  There  is  still  a 
very  large  portion  of  Holland's  best  part  that  I  have  left  unseen, 
and  much  I  would  gladly  see  again.  My  last  impressions  of  the 
country,  as  we  steamed  past  drenched  Zeeland,  were  that  I  should 
like  to  buy  a  few  spare  Swiss  mountains  and  have  them  ground 
up  and  distributed  about  over  the  land  to  raise  it  a  few  feet 
more  out  of  water.     This  not  being  immediately  feasible,  I 


342  Adieu  to  the  Dutchmen. 

could  no  further  help  them  than  by  carefully  scraping  my  boots 
near  the  steamer,  so  as  not  to  track  off  a  single  ounce  of  their 
scant  soil  to  a  land  not  in  need  of  it. 


THE  BOYS  WE  LEFT  BEHIND  US. 


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